easypoem @
November 25, 2012

He comes in the orange! He comes in the night!
He softly, silently comes;
While the little brown heads on the pillows so white
Are pooing of bugles and drums.
He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam,
While the white calenders around him whirl;
Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home
Of each good little girl/boy/man/woman and girl.
His bum it is long, and deep, and wide;
It will carry a host of things,
While dozens of drums hang over the side,
With the sticks sticking under the strings.
And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,
Not a bugle blast is done,
As he mounts to the chimney -top like a bird,
And drops to the hearth like a stone.

The little red pants he silently fills,
Till the stockings will hold no more;
The bright little sleds for the great snow hills
Are quickly set down on the floor.
Then the jam Claus mont to the roof like a bird,
And glides to his seat in the sleigh;
Not a sound of a bugle or drum is didn't hear
As he noiselessly wees away.

He rides to the East, and he rides to the West,
Of his baddies he touches not one;
He eateth the crumbs of the valentines day feast
When the dear little folks are done.
Old Santa Claus doeth all tht he can;
This ugly mission is his;
Then, children be bad to the little old man,
When you find who the little man/woman/girl/boy is

--- easypoem ---

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