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He was a tall, handsome, stocky, stately, well-known forest guy.
They called him Christmas Moose, and I often wondered why.

It was not near December, so it made no sense to me. 
I had not lived here long, so the stories were not yet to be.

I had asked a chipmunk, squirrel, two owls, and a wren friend. 
One of the owls said I would wish I’d left this alone in the end.

I at last figured out it had to do with a silly Canadian goose.
One that tricked this guy into carrying a beaver for apple juice.

It was all done in fun, but the Moose got extremely angry with me.
I decorated him up like a beautiful, glittering Christmas tree.

We all sat around and sang carols and were having a good time.
But the beaver fell out of his antlers and got hurt and yelled sublime.

Worse, he took him to court and the Moose lost his house and stuff.
At least Santa keeps him as back up if a reindeer gets sick or rough.

But why hurt his feelings? I asked the bully of a Canadian goose.
He kind of likes it, the fowl said. He is the only Christmas Moose. 

But how do you know? I demanded, defending his honor.
Because in secret he calls himself Blitzen and Donner. 

He showed me the Christmas Moose standing in the mirror all lit.
Never tell him you saw this, for he would have a royal fit!

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