I see Father Christmas,
Decked out in a robe of red,
Garland strands and tassel bells,
He’s wrapped from his feet to his head.

He looks kind’a funny,
Donned in what looks like a dress,
But it is an old world Santa,
He is dressed in his Christmas best.

Gift laden hands and a smile upon his face,
Curled up mustache and a beard snowy white,
Silver and gold twined around him,
He's easily spotted in the night.

Shhh now you must be quiet,
So he will pass right on by,
We are not supposed to see him,
'Cept when he and the reindeer fly.

Now what do you suppose he's doing,
I believe that is mom's surprise,
Perfume and shiny jewelry,
That is what we surmise.

I don't see a power saw,
Nor dolls and roller skates,
I see not a bag of toys,
You suppose their left in wait?

Father Christmas is a jolly soul,
Though a diet he could stand,
But Christmas would not be the same,
Without this oversized man.

His tummy wiggles and jiggles,
As he works in leaps and bounds,
His merry ho ho ho’s ring out,
But we don't make a sound.

'Round about behind the couch,
We huddle in silent awe,
Cannot wait to tell the story,
'Twas Father Christmas we saw.

Gayle Davis©
20 November 2006
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