Brionna C

There's something truly magical
that happens once a year.
He comes while you are sleeping,
he and his reindeer.

His name is Santa Claus.
Perhaps you have heard of him before.
He lives with Mrs. Claus,
way up at the North Pole.

He has a factory
where they make lots of toys,
special toys just for you,
all the little good girls and boys.

On Christmas Eve, he loads his sleigh,
presents and all.
He shouts the name of every reindeer;
they answer to his call.

They begin to fly up in the sky.
Their journey takes flight,
and Santa knows he has little time before
nighttime turns light.

He comes down the chimney,
furnace, or front door,
scratches his beard and goes to work,
putting presents on the floor.

He eats the milk and cookies,
so quiet and discreet.
I never hear or see him.
He's gone within a blink.

As the morning barely creeps,
I run down the stairs,
presents are so pretty,
packaged with love and care.

The note says from Santa.
I squeal with delight.
Thank you, thank you, Santa.
I'll see you next Christmas night.