The  Post
Christmas  Poetry  Competition 
  2004

do you know what makes us grow,

our toes, our fingernails, our bones?

do you care what makes it snow,

the cold, the icy skies that blow?

I do not know what makes it snow

and neither do I care to know,

for I've a greater tale to keep

as secret as the whispering wheat.

Do you know if Santa is fat,

or if he wears a bright red hat

and rides a gleaming crimson sleigh

and laughs to drive the chills away?

I know him well, I know it true

for I have met him, I tell you.

The Greatest Man alive to date

fell down my chimney, very late

on Christmas Eve, two nights ago

he woke me up and stubbed his toe!

believe it not, I tell the truth:

'who comes when you have lost a tooth?'

'and what makes you so sure of that,

and not Saint Nick and his red hat?'

'ho! hO! HO!' he cried in pain

and fumbled for the Port in vain

(which Mother had placed by the door,

but Father drank the night before).

He muttered Merry Curses and

with a deft wave of his right hand,

he filled my stocking to the brim

then saw, behind the tree, my grin!

He gasped, and with his pudding grace

leapt right back up the fireplace.

And off he went, but I didn't care

for in my stocking was a beautiful bear...

Dear Santa,

sorry for the fright,

do come again some snowy night

to make my wishes all come true,

Sweet Dreams, Good Night, and

Merry Christmas to you, too.

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