Written in the style of the poet, Dylan Thomas.
The midnight soot, a smudge of velvet night, held the Grinch-dog, all snarl and green-felt spite, as he drove the desperate evergreen down the chimney's black, cold throat. The roof was a moon-slick slate for his wicked labour, done in the quiet of the slumbering street. But oh, the pup, a small white-chested shadow, merely watched the frost-bright world, turning the simple, red-glass orb of innocent Joy in the slow, fire-shadowed dark, utterly deaf to the rumble of his father’s rebellious deed.
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