Note to Readers: Unlike most of my poems, this one is not
intended to be funny. This is a special poem for this most
festive day of the year. I hope you enjoy it.
Late December, through the snowing
nighttime comes a gleaming glowing,
growing till it’s shining, showing
to the children who believe.
Santa Claus comes sledding, gliding
with his sleigh and reindeer riding
over rooftops, Rudolph guiding
each and every Christmas Eve.
Bringing presents packed in wrapping
to the children, nicely napping,
who’ll be snipping, ripping, clapping
in the morning, ’round the tree.
Yes, tonight he’s lightly landing,
with the reindeer he’s commanding,
on our housetop, stretching, standing,
bringing gifts for you and me.
Down the chimney Santa’s sliding
with the presents he’s providing.
‘Cross the floor he’s stepping, striding,
carrying upon his back
slingshots, seesaws, slides and swingsets,
rocking horses, rides and ring sets,
capes and crowns in queen and king sets,
all within his magic sack.
With his presents now he’s kneeling,
near the tree that taps the ceiling,
leaving balls and trucks for wheeling,
reeling round the kitchen floor.
Flicking flakes of fallen flocking
from his suitcoat, smiling, rocking,
Santa stands and stuffs each stocking
with a doll or dinosaur.
Carefully each gift is meted
till each girl and boy is treated.
Then, at last, his work completed,
Santa Claus prepares to go.
High his hefty sack he’s heaving
up the chimney, lifting, leaving,
in a blink beyond perceiving
and he’s off into the snow.
Now the dawn is slowly breaking,
all the children yawning, waking,
hasten to the happy making
of a wondrous Christmas morn.
Near the yule log’s dying ember
we discover and remember
all our lives that each December
childhood memories are born.