We whisper to each other
We've been carefully made with one child in mind
And artfully wrapped and labeled
But with speed
Now we feel the rush of wind outside
And our collective excitement grows
As we make the journey home
Who will open us on Christmas morning?
Who will give our short lives purpose?
Who will love us as our maker intended?
We await the rush of joy
The solitary journey down the chimney
To reach our good boy or girl.
What are we?
(Yesterday's answer: Angel)