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Santa gets tired, dodging fire
That burns in the fireplace, below
All decked out in his fleece
And a little goose grease
Down the chimney he’d slide, like a pro

Feeling the heat, from under his feet
He tried very carefully, you know
To avoid all the flames
Without cursing your name
Little children might hear him, ut oh!

Once he found the tree, quite merrily
He would stack the toys, not a sound
Did he make as he swayed
To the music they played
This house, his most favorite, around

Up the chimney, jumpin’ jiminy!
Halfway, the poor man became tilted
The fire, now roaring
Dear Santa, imploring
“Even my white whiskers have wilted!”

So please, remember, this December
To make sure that your chimney is cold
He’ll be happier, see
As he calls to you and me
“Merry Christmas, to all, young and old!”


November Writing Prompt – Wilted white whiskers – Day 27/30

©2018 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
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