He’s a jolly guy with a red flushed face
Lives one flight up, above my place
He’s up all night, sleeps all day
Never an unkind word to say.
He’s always smiling, never frowns
As he makes his way about the town
Can often be found at the local bar
Sipping whiskey, and smoking cigars.
His hair is long, his beard is white
He really is a grizzly site
A beer belly, with a bright red nose
Where he came from, no one knows.
He’ll tell you he’s had, but one career
Works just one week, throughout the year
He sits in a chair at Bloomingdales
Telling children stories and Christmas tales.
The kids all love him and clamor around
You can hear a pin drop, hardly a sound
He tells them he’s been with reindeers and elves
They believe every word and he believes it himself.
Visions of workshops, with hundreds of toys
Soon to be delivered to good girls and boys
The children are wide eyed and mesmerized
They sit at his feet, almost hypnotized.
Snow covered and magical, who wouldn’t believe?
Who wouldn’t want to live there, who’d ever want to leave?
He shares their dreams, as they sit on the floor
One week out of the year, is what he lives for.
Image from Google Images: dreamstime.com