Christmas Morning Santa
Christmas Morning Santa
Christmas morning, and I, by chance to see,
near a mistletoe leaf that had fallen from a tree,
Santa, stuck knee-deep in the snow
with a puzzled look on his face and drawers opened
that revealed a hare, who, too, looked confused,
and timepieces melting away from the heat.
“Santa,” I cried, “What are you doing here?”
For I could only assume, Santa fell out of his sleigh,
and the reindeer headed for the North Pole alone,
after a long, arduous night of delivering presents.
He just stared at me while the sun cast our shadows,
and I hoped the reindeer would soon reappear
to take Santa home to get ready for next year.
***
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