Santa Claus Makes Me Happy

There’s no tread or scuffing hinted, By that tough father-like figure, Painted red, gown not flung on, But a thoughtfully configured picture. Bright red, vibrant with energy, For each kid, loud, silent or bewildered; Wanting to give them all enjoyment, With heart, love and feeling rendered. All are included, none left out, Coloured, tall, disabled, skinny; Loved, lonely, fat, intelligent, Sporty, introvert, nerd, bubbly. That red velvet met by white fur, Exploding with purity rather explicitly; Entitled to be warm, that morality, That pillar of nurture and equality. There’s not one gift or present, but many, A plurality for each face that lights, For each smile that justifies the giving, To let parents quietly adjust their sights. But kids must be good and kind too, To merit that spark of interest from Claus, Because that’s the condition of giving, The hinge of the egalitarian laws. A bright symbol of societal progress, That’s so loved by the generation gap; Love wrought through dispute, disagreement, Worked out through a family’s cold tap. When your child has an intense interest, And your faith impedes your reason, Father Christmas begs that you submit, By thus calling your child a small person. Not so as to render him an adult, Or consider her older than yourself, But to admit that their hobbies, Only come from society’s shelf. Santa Claus has a moral point, a focus, Hints politely to those who lack the personal, To embrace the child’s joys and pleasures, At Christmas, when you may be feeling neural.