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My Christmas Present My Christmas present stares at me, A silver bulge beneath the tree, Tied with bright red bows. I pick it up--its ribbons slip And tingle on my fingertips. "What can you be?" I whisper low. I shake and poke and peer at it, Then put it back and sigh a bit. It will not tell me what it knows. Stiffly dressed in shiny clothes Of silver, waiting silently, My present sits...and stares at me. --Deborah Chandra
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