Christmas Poetry Competition
Santa at Six by sm108
do you know what makes us grow,
our toes, our fingernails, our bones?
do you care what makes it snow,
the cold, the icy skies that blow?
I do not know what makes it snow
and neither do I care to know,
for I've a greater tale to keep
as secret as the whispering wheat.
Do you know if Santa is fat,
or if he wears a bright red hat
and rides a gleaming crimson sleigh
and laughs to drive the chills away?
I know him well, I know it true
for I have met him, I tell you.
The Greatest Man alive to date
fell down my chimney, very late
on Christmas Eve, two nights ago
he woke me up and stubbed his toe!
believe it not, I tell the truth:
'who comes when you have lost a tooth?'
'and what makes you so sure of that,
and not Saint Nick and his red hat?'
'ho! hO! HO!' he cried in pain
and fumbled for the Port in vain
(which Mother had placed by the door,
but Father drank the night before).
He muttered Merry Curses and
with a deft wave of his right hand,
he filled my stocking to the brim
then saw, behind the tree, my grin!
He gasped, and with his pudding grace
leapt right back up the fireplace.
And off he went, but I didn't care
for in my stocking was a beautiful bear...
sorry for the fright,
do come again some snowy night
to make my wishes all come true,
Sweet Dreams, Good Night, and
Merry Christmas to you, too.