Santa's Way

I met Santa on my way,
Hey Santa I asked "where you stay?"
With hair and beard so white and grey
I don't believe north pole is your way.

I walk up and down the lanes,
Sneaking in through the window panes,
Giving children trains and planes,
Said Santa and gave me some manes.

I thanked Santa for his gift
And clever Santa asked me for a lift,
But I replied in a swift,
That I have no sledge to drift.

Santa said you are a good lad
But some of your habits very bad
Hearing this I felt very sad
But soon I knew Santa was my dad.



Note: This is a old poem I wrote couple of years back. It was Selected by Poetry.com, to be included in their 2005 spring edition "Eternal Portraits Series". Just thought It deserved a place in this trash