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A puppy lost out in the cold,
that no one wants to love and hold,
or even hug or kick or scold.
What is foretold? What is foretold?
The winter's snow is on him now;
he needs to find some warmth somehow,
perhaps beneath a low pine bough,
to shield his brow, to shield his brow.
Huddling, shiv'ring in the dark night,
he sudd'nly sees an awesome sight.
From out the sky, a shining light,
so white and bright, so white and bright.
It's one and only good St. Nick
and reindeer with their feet a-kick.
Land in the meadow, slick and quick.
It's quite a trick, it's quite a trick.
Kind Santa stroked the puppy lost,
as he lay there where he'd been tossed.
It's such good luck their paths have crossed,
there in the frost, there in the frost.
Then Santa said, "I know someone
who wants a puppy for some fun,
To romp and play in summer's sun.
He has no one, he has no one."
So, there in Santa's sled he lay,
as he sent reindeer on their way
to find the pup his Christmas Day.
No more a stray, no more a stray.
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