On window panes, the icy frost

Leaves feathered patterns, crissed and crossed

But in our house the Christmas tree

Is decorated festively

With tiny dots of coloured light

That cosy up this winter night

Christmas songs, familiar, slow

Play softly on the radio

Pops and hisses from the fire

Whistle with the bells and choir

My daddy is now fast asleep

On his back and dreaming deep

When the fire makes him hot

He turns to warm whatever's not

Propped against him on the rug

I give my dad a gentle hug

Tomorrow's what I'm waiting for

But I can wait a little more.

A/N: Alright, Here's the explanation.

My daughter was reading through my old Calvin and Hobbes books until she found this poem. She then mostly plagiarised it until it became this, Still, she presented it to me as a Christmas present, and I happily accepted, rushing to post this online. However, due to my recent finding out of the plagiarism and the Christmas party I had to attend, I can only post it on early Christmas Day. So just a disclaimer: Bill Watterson wrote the poem. I own nothing. My daughter just changed two words. And yet I'm still posting this. Go figure.