Copyright Nancilee Wydra, 2014. All rights reserved.  This information can not be duplicated or reproduced.

​Before the sun rises over the earth's curved lip,
I get out of bed and start my trip.
Downstairs waiting on Christmas morn,
Before night’s darkness turns to dawn,
Are stockings filled to the top,
No longer looking like regular socks.
Lots of boxes wrapped in colorful paper,
With bows ending with a curly taper.

Finding boxes that are mine to take,
I pick them up and give them a shake.
It helps me know what is inside.
If asked, "Did I peek?" I don't have to lie.

If there's no sound, I figure everyone knows,
That what’s inside are likely clothes.
But, if itrattlesand makes some noise,
It’s probably a whole bunch of different toys.
​
What if, I switch the tags so packages with noise,
Are given to mom and dad so they get the toys?
What a surprise?  What could I say,
And look astonished and not betray,
Then I’d admit the hoaxand we'd all smile,
Laughing as we swooped up the rest of the pile.

Tossing them to the rightful family member
This sure will be a Christmas all will remember!