A funny poem about Santa Claus that will bring a smile to your face. Both children and adults will enjoy this poem! A great poem to share during the Christmas season.
Ah-ketch-u! ah-ketch-u!! ah-ketch-u!!!
Right out of the chimney he flew,
With the speed of a comet, the whiz of a rocket,
Coat up to his ears, hands stuffed in his pocket,
His nose in a pucker, his teeth in a chatter,
"Dear Santa," said I, "why what is the matter?
You look very much as if you were freezing;
And, of all things, what under the sun set you sneezing?
Is it possible, you, the dear old Saint Nicholas,
Have been catching cold? How supremely ridiculous!"
He stopped when he heard me, this jolly old fellow.
With his heart like, a peach, so tender and mellow.
"I am chilled to the marrow," he cried, with a shiver,
His eyes growing misty, his chin in a quiver.
"Did you see the tall chimney from which I came flying?
In the room right below it a small boy sat crying
And sobbing and scolding because -oh how shocking! -
He found only ten presents crammed in his stocking,
While his wee baby sister had eleven. Why, his weeping
Made the chimney so damp, the cold chills kept creeping
From my neck to my toe-tips. So then, with a whew!
I shot out of that chimney - ah-ketch-u! ah-ketch-u!!
"I have travelled all over the far arctic regions.
Have been among Esquimaux. Danes and Norwegians;
But that's the first child, on mainland or isthmus.
That has made me, old Santa Claus, sneeze on a Christmas."
Another poem about Santa Claus that children may enjoy;
Why Santa Claus
Poet Unknown
He comes in the night! He comes in the night!
He softly, silently comes;
While the little brown heads on the pillows so white
Are dreaming of bugles and drums.
He cuts through the snow like ships through the foam.
While the white flakes around him whirl;
Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home
Of each good little boy and girl.
His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide;
It will carry a host of things.
While dozens of drums hang over the side.
With the sticks sticking under the strings.
And yet not the sound of a drum is heard.
Not a bugle blast is blown.
As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird.
And drops to the earth like a stone.
The little red stockings he silently fills,
Till the stockings will hold no more;
The bright little sleds for the great snow hills
Are quickly set on the floor.
Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird,
And glides to his seat in the sleigh;
Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard
As he noiselessly gallops away.
He rides to the East, and he rides to the West,
Of his goodies he touches not one;
He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast
When the dear little folks are done.
Old Santa Claus doeth all that he can;
This beautiful mission is his;
Then, children, be good to the little old man.
When you find who the little man is.
