Santa has a problem on Christmas Eve (again), and needs my help.
Twas the night before Christmas, I sat at my desk.
So much writing to do, I sure couldn’t rest.
Reviews had been done, the reports were complete.
Now, it was time for a walk down Main Street.
I donned my long coat, scarf, and black hat.
A Chicago winter is cold, imagine that!
When on my monitor a message appeared,
“Jim, I need your help, much like last year!”
I thought it a virus, it made me pause.
Then I saw the signature, “Santa Claus”.
I’d helped him last year by spreading the cheer,
Seeing this short note, he had my ear.
“What’s wrong Santa, I thought all was fine.”
“All is well, except this body of mine.
I need a long nature break, but time is short.
Think you can sub for me, give me support?”
“Sub for you Santa? But of course I can!
Meet me on the corner, I’m your man.”
We swapped places, he was groaning as I left.
He sat on my toilet looking so bereft.
I went to the homes of Susie, Jimmy, and John.
And places where children just didn’t belong.
We flew over mountains, valleys and seas.
Made it home by the end of Christmas Eve.
Santa was asleep, spread out on my bed.
No groaning or snoring, he looked almost dead.
I glanced under my tree, what did I see?
The dream of my life, I fell to my knees.
By the time I looked up, my bed was empty,
He had gone to finish his rounds quietly.
As he climbed in his sleigh, I heard him say,
“Thank you Jim, have a Merry Christmas Day.”
One might wonder about the gift given to me.
It was more precious than love, that was the key.
Not much for most people, at least on first look,
It was a signed, first edition, poetry book.