Something’s amiss at Santa’s House.
Nothing is stirring, not even a mouse.
Mail lies unopened, left in a heap.
Elves haven’t spoken for over a week.
Even Rudolph is off his food
And North Pole folk are uncommonly rude.
The problem is Santa. He isn’t himself.
His wife is worried about his health.
“What’s wrong with you, Santa?” she has to ask.
“I really don’t think you’re up to the task.”
But even her threat doesn’t cause a bluster.
Lying in bed, no defense can he muster.
“Come, come now Santa,” she says a bit cross.
She isn’t used to being the boss.
“I can’t,” he mumbles, “I don’t have the strength.”
“But Santa, with sleigh you’ve travelled at length.”
“It’s the year,” he sighs, “It’s too much to bear.”
“You know, my dear, it’s your job to care.
You must arise. Clothe yourself in red.
You can’t stay here, depressed and in bed.
Get up, get up, shake your big sleepy head.
Love is the tonic you need to spread.
You’re the best thing to happen in 2020
For sorrow and hardship, there’s been aplenty.”
“OK, if you’re sure I’ll make a difference,
I didn’t think people would notice my absence.”
“You must be joking, we’ve been sad for so long.
We need you to come sing a Christmas song.
Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly
Ho, Ho, Ho, let’s all be jolly.
For this year we’ll be gathered only a few
Without the pleasure of family and crew.”
Then Santa arose, and guess what? He’s coming!
Rudolph’s eaten and harnessed for running.
Thank you, Santa, for coming to town
Now we can turn our frowns upside down.