In the cusp of December's shivering grace, Young Xanthe beams with a smile on her face. Ankle-deep in puddles, so carefree and bright, In her green coat, a beacon in the winter's light. Three days till Christmas, the air crisp and cold, Yet warmth in her laughter, a joy to behold. In the great outdoors, her spirit takes flight, Painting the drear with her own merry delight.