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Poem

When it gets dark and the clock strikes twelve,
 Freezing winds pass blushing the silver bell.
 Snowballs move slowly like a trotting horse,
 Boisterous breezes push open the casements with force.

 Then from dark deep skies, under the clouds shed,
 With reindeers pulling the sledge, comes Santa in red.
 Long beard, pot belly, and conic hat on head,
 Holding the bag full of presents and spells moves to their bed.

 Adorned stags nod head and thump hoof,
 Snorts slowly as Santa ascends to roof.
 Springs into chimney, rests on floor,
 Hoofs clatter, bells tinkle bit more, as he opens the door.

 Twelve months, several weeks, the season comes to end,
 People wait every time for the like trend.
 New Year brings along fresh dusk and dawn,
 New plans made again, old ones are torn.

 Endows our wishes, presents us bliss,
 Santa bows down and gives our cheeks a kiss.
 Bestow gifts, making us cheer,
 Yaps aloud Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

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