1047 Santa In The Attic from my free poem web site poems-by-papyrous Sure that’s Santa in the attic, about to play at old Saint Nick. But as he donned his bright red cap, soon nods and yawns gave way to nap. He traveled far in inner-space to find his secret data-base. Then with green-bound book of glory, Santa learned his hidden story. Not for children I tell this tale. Who knows what portion might prevail. Now catch my drift as best you can. First Santa was an Irishman. His saintly mother named him John. He was, in fact, a leprechaun. He grew to know that magic art, which understands the human heart. A vow he made to help Mankind. A thought he planted in our mind, that in the coldest time of year, we’d bring a gift to those quite dear. But he was smart, as smart can be. He knew Man loved a mystery. So weave he did, in threads of gold, a legend that’s forever told, Of little helpers at North Pole, who work for love, our greatest goal. Now Santa’s learned who Santa is, not plumber or computer whiz, but kindest echo of the scheme of one small heart with one great dream. Now make your list and plan for fun, the suit will fit most everyone. (Papyrous: Phoenix, Arizona; Wednesday February 14 , 2007; 7:45 A.M.)
Posted on: Thu, 11 Dec 2014 13:16:27 +0000