|
| |
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…
Copyright ©
Caren Krutsinger
|
|