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as whispered windows all aglow,
the crescent moon now falls with snow,
the sound of tiny reindeer paws
that pull a sleigh with santa claus,
one sack in red pushed in between,
a night of snow when all does gleam,
his suit of red and beard so white
yet feet so small that make him slight,
a pair of specs rest on his nose
like one small drop of rain that glows,
the day draws nigh as tiny tots,
curled in their beds or wooden cots,
will spring to life to rush downstairs
but first, `tis time for christmas prayers!



©'t. imaan tretchicovmanicova

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