𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐝
The magic, we are told, comes in the night,
A silent, unseen gift-delivering flight.
But I have learned the truth of how it's made:
It's built by you, with skills that never fade.

While we slept, dreaming of a morning's cheer,
You were the quiet engineers right here.
The clock ticked past the hour of twelve,
And then your careful, tired work began again.

The wrestle with the tape, the tricky knot,
The price tags hidden in the bin (forgot!),
The final check that every box was right,
Then placing them to catch the morning light.

You conjured up the feast, you set the scene,
You made the ordinary day serene.
You filled it with a light that we could feel,
A light not from a star, but something real.

So when the frantic, happy day is through,
And we are tired, looking back at you,
Know this: the magic wasn't in Santa's glow
Or in the things that any child could know.

It was YOUR love that did the heavy lifting,
The careful, Christmas-morning gift of giving.
You are the source. You are the constant reason
For every happy day, in every season.