W. Scott Messer
I had heard that every year
On Christmas Eve when night was near
If I’d listen close I’d surely hear
Santa and his eight reindeer
Old Santa the fat and Rudolf the red
And eight other reindeer who powered a sled
That could soar through the air like a heleplane jet
And I’d watched every year, but had not seen it yet
I had told the Santa fans
That the old man’s legend was out of hand
In department stores the man is mimicked
He’s just another Christmas gimmick
Portrayed by a fellow whose real name is Hershel
I told them: Santa’s just commercial
But nobody listened to what I had said
So late Christmas Eve, when all were in bed
I sneaked down the stairs with a masterful scheme
To prove that St. Nick was no more than a dream
My camera was aimed at the fireplace and
It stood well concealed on its new, gift wrapped stand
The camera was running all the night long
Until well after midnight, when Christmas Eve was gone
He hadn’t showed up, not even an elf
I had proved he was untrue, and proud of myself
So I turned off my camera and headed for bed
I chuckled smugly and then shook my head
And that’s when it happened, of all the bad fate
Someone behind me said: sorry I’m late
I turned with a start, and there, by the tree…
Oh, what’s the use? Who’d listen to me