Waiting For Santa

Who whispers to me from outside my view? If it's you Saint Nick, then please do tattle. I'll listen and determine if you are true, Prove you to me with an antlers rattle. Now, what of those shadows I strain to see? Are those of your deer at my window pane? What of that tramping aloft at the chimney? Do my eyes and these ears work in vain. I am nervous, not knowing, if Santa will come. Is that he now knocking at my closed door? Or are the sounds birthed from this rum? So committed and destined to drink still more. Now come hear my Santa, now do as you’re told. Before I empty this rum and then grow cold.