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.