The Christmas Letter

    I'm always glad when Christmas comes, and yet I'd like it better;
    If mother wouldn't bother me to write a Christmas letter
    To uncle John and Cousin Kate and dear old Grand-aunt Gray,
    And all whose presents come to me from places far away.
    Of course I love my presents, and if givers should forget her,
    No little girl, my mother says, need write a Christmas letter.
    For oh! my ink makes awful blots, though I try to do real well,
    And when you write them out of school, all words are hard to spell.
    I mean to mind my mother, she's so kind I would not fret her,
    But when she says, "Stop playing, dear. Come, write this Christmas letter,"
    That's just the thing I hate to hear, and if I dared, I wouldn't
    Remember how to hold a pen, I'd make believe I couldn't.