Santa pause

After work tonight, a rest

Twas the night before Christmas and Santa was done. It’s a work night for Santa, house-hopping ain’t fun.

Ever tried pushing a trike down a chimney? While coals from the yule log still glistened but dimly?

Ever tried rounding the world in one evening? While sugarplum fairies keep kiddies a-dreaming?

Oh, Santa doesn’t mind the amount of the work. But you must should admit his work is a quirk.

Year-long labor by elves deserves all applauses, but when it comes to delivery they’re subordinate Clauses.

Jack Frost may nip, but he doesn’t deliver. Yukon Cornelius ain’t much of a giver.

Frosty’s a flake, kind of unsteady, Not much better at flying than Clark’s Cousin Eddie.

Ralphie is a bit too real as John McClane too, and few cats believe in the Who’s Cindy Lou.

Tiny Tim is too sickly, the Krampus too scaley. Too busy with all those kids is poor George Bailey.

Kevin’s fam from “Home Alone” has too many flaws. The Heat Miser is busy roasting Arkansas.

No, this night belongs to one worker extreme. With the help of some reindeer, his work is supreme.

But once he is finished he’ll sit down in his chair. A milk, some cookies, maybe a toddy prepared.

As dawn approaches and all around the globe, Kids bound from their beds, parents rope off their robes.

They’ll run to the tree, and presents unwrap, Clapping and laughing, all over the map.

His work will be over for ‘bout 300 days. Till his elves start it over in a number of ways.

They’ll get out the tools and begin yet again, Painting and nailing and adjusting and then—

The requests will come in for Christmas Eve next. By mail, by email, by phone, by text.

So allow Santa to sleep tonight after, say, 4 before we start asking for presents and more.

Remember that each year, sure as Santa exists, We all get presents . . . . Santa gets a list.