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Christmas Hope

Twas midnight of the eve of Christmas,
when Santa calls to do his business.
On my roof came such a clatter,
then the sound of pitter-patter.
Huffing, puffing, chuffing and chatter,
it seemed Santa had something the matter.

I peered from the duvet, to spy a light,
neath the chimney breast, Santa stuck tight.
With dust and soot falling about boots a-wiggling
and up above, Reindeer were giggling.
To my delight and if by magic,
Santa dropped down looking sooty and tragic.

“Are you okay?” I heard myself ask him,
for now Santa seemed so very slim.
“Christmas time now, needs ever more hope,
and your chimney’s tall, so I needed more rope.
All things being equal, you should be in a sleep,
so off with you now, and with neary a peep.”

Next morning, a magic carpet of snow,
was lain outside all crisp and aglow.
I rushed downstairs, happy and shouting,
“He’s been! He’s been!” never doubting.
For Santa is real, and I’m still a big fan,
here in the child, living in this old man.

Copyright © Tom Kane 2020

A Merry Christmas to One and All


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Michael Spicer
23 days ago

Ahh, England can do that to a man! Merry Christmas and thanks for still believing

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