he always had hope

His mittens were hung on his tiny hall tree It was next to his bed, with a quilt from Aunt Fee He knew Santa would find him, he always had hope Santa is not real someone said. Don’t be a dope! But he believed in Santa, so of course Santa came. He left him treats, goodies and presents, and a bird, tame. The bird was good company; she became a good friend. Now, my dear readers, this poem must end…