"When gifts do not suit, it is easy
For folks who prefer to arrange it;
They simply go back to the Commy next day
With the thing they don't want - and exchange it!"
"The kids hang their stockings all
up in a row
In hopes that you, Santa, will fill 'em;
And that is just why I am here to see you -
Please come this year, Santa, and thrill 'em!"
The cherub sat there, rather thoughtful,
"Old Santa they want? I don't doubt it;
It's a long way to go and I've so much to do,
Let's study a while, Friend, about it!"
"You have chimneys, of
course?" he suddenly asked,
"Fixed with pine boughs all fragrant and smelly?
You know ho I pose with a fireplace in back
When I shake like a bowlfull of jelly!"
"My reindeer like house-tops all
cover with snow,
Old Donder and Blitzen and Dancer;
I wonder how Comet would feel about palms,
How thatch roofs would suit my old Prancer?"
"A chimney, though, Friend, on that I insist;
With a fireplace - that's how I prefer it;
And if such requirements are not to be had,
My trip there this year? - We'll defer it!"
His visitor frowned for a moment, then grinned
As he picked up a toy made of wood;
"No, Santa," he said, "we've no chimneys down there,
But we've something that's fully as good!"
"Why not come this year in a flying
(We've at Albrook a fine landing port);
I'll bet you would find it an interesting trip,
Chock-full of excitement and sport!"
Outside, the wind gave a dismal roar
While the Northern Lights flashed high;
Old Santa Claus, cocking his ear, heard one
Of his polar bears go by.
He heard the bark of his seals on the ice,
Heard his reindeer pawing light;
While a walrus heard on the beach hard by,
Bellowed loudly through the night.
He thought of the place he always had
Where Christmas was jolly and white;
Where skates cut a path on the smooth, glassy ice,
And bells tinkled out in the night;
He thought of the wind in the naked
Of frost on the window panes;
He thought of the crunching of snowy streets,
And long vistas of frozen lanes;
He thought of the house-tops his
reindeer had pawed,
Of chimneys he'd hurried down through;
Trade them for a Christmas without any snow?
"No, Friend," he replied, "it won't do!"
"Your vines and your flowers with
blossoms so rare
All sound like they'd be very fine;
But, Stranger, I wouldn't trade any of them
For on whiff of my dear northern pine!"