“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”
Clement Clarke Moore’s poem never ceases to move me. It awakens memories of Christmases past and hopes for Christmas present.
Christmas Eve in my childhood home was a grand time. Our decorated Christmas tree would have beneath it a scattering of wrapped presents, but my sister and I knew that come Christmas morning, those few presents would be dwarfed by the many that would be left by Santa Claus.
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