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Santa Claus Poetry

Guest Author - Amy Packham


SANTA'S NEW IDEA

Said Santa Claus One winter's night,
‘I really think it's only right That gifts should have a little say
‘Bout where they'll be on Christmas Day.'

So then and there He called the toys
Intended for good girls and boys, And when they'd settled down to hear,
He made his plan for them quite clear.

These were his words:

‘Soon now,' he said,
‘You'll all be speeding off with me To being the Christmas joy and cheer
To little ones both far and near.

‘Here's my idea, It seems but fair
That you should each one have a share In choosing homes where you will stay
On and after Christmas Day.

‘Now the next weeks Before we go
Over the miles of glistening snow Find out the tots that you like best
And think much nicer than the rest.'

The toys called out ‘Hurrah! Hurrah!
What fun to live always and play With folks we choose – they'll surely be
Selected very carefully.'

So, children dear, When you do see
Your toys in socks or on a tree, You'll know in all the world ‘twas you
They wanted to be given to.

~~ Author Unknown


WHEN SANTA CLAUS COMES

A good time is coming, I wish it were here,
The very best time in the whole of the year;

I'm counting each day on my fingers and thumbs-
The weeks that must pass before Santa Claus comes.

Then when the first snowflakes begin to come down,
And the wind whistles sharp and the branches are brown,

I'll not mind the cold, though my fingers it numbs,
For it brings the time nearer when Santa Claus comes.

~~ Author Unknown


SANTA CLAUS

He comes in the night! He comes in the night!
He softly, silently comes,

While the little brown heads on the pillows so white
Are dreaming of bugles and drums.

He cuts thro' the snow like a ship thro' the foam,
While the white flakes 'round him whirl.

Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home
Of each good little boy and girl.

His sleigh 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 blown,

As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,
And drops to the hearth like stone.

The little red stockings 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 Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird,
And glides to his seat in the sleigh;

Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard
As he noiselessly gallops away.

~~ Author Unknown

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Content copyright © 2014 by Amy Packham. All rights reserved.
This content was written by Amy Packham. If you wish to use this content in any manner, you need written permission. Contact BellaOnline Administration for details.

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