'Twas the Night Before Christmas

This is a little story/poem thingy I wrote a few years ago.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring . . except for the mouse.

'Twas a simple young mouse, with a heart so brave. Always on Adventures while others stayed in the cave 

(The cave that held every mouse, every rat. 'Twas the only way to keep out the cat.)

The brave young mouse stayed awake alone, with excitement and warmth coming straight from his bone. 

Every year, at Christmas time. He would read the same story, his favorite rhyme. 

The one he would listen to, all the time.

 

The first Christmas story, the very first one, about God the creator, sending His son. 

As a ransom for us, to save human souls. That strive after strive, cannot reach our goals.

But this year, the brave mouse was all in a fluster, finding all the courage he could muster.

For the book had been stolen, yes, his favorite tale. The one that sent joy from his nose to his tail.

And the thought of it missing, made the poor mouse wail.

 

So off he went, to find his treasure. His favorite book, which gave him pleasure.

With satchel on back and walking stick in hand, he searched and he searched, till he could no longer stand.

Yet on he searched, and would not quit. On he would climb, over every pit.

Though he continued to search, he did not find. The failure was playing tricks on his mind.

But with every step he would remember the story he'd heard each December

About the Savior who came to remove all our pain, and that would keep him trudging on again.

He came to a door, locked without key. Made of glass and ebony

And through this door, that brave mouse could see.

 

What did he see? That brave little mouse? A sight that would soon change the whole house.

For the book has been taken, that much was true, but not by the expected few.

And not for the mere purpose of theft, but the purpose that family may be kept.

For a mother sat there, reading to her child. About the newborn King, tender and mild.

As the baby was rocked slowly to sleep, not a creature in the house made a peep.

The brave little mouse, came and sat by the fire. To hear the story and let it inspire. 

Then that brave little mouse, with his heart full of joy, said a prayer of thanks for the Christmas baby boy

A gift so much better, than any card or toy.

Author's Note

Please don't argue here about religion. It's meant to be a cute story and it reflects my personal beliefs, but I'm not saying they have to be yours.