On the night before Christmas
driving home from the mall;
Mom crashed into Santa-
knocked him into a wall.
The bundle of toys
that was once on his back,
lay scattered and broken -
nothing left in the sack
There was blood on his chin
and his clothes were askew.
His eyes - that once twinkled
were now black and blue.
He spoke not a word -
just jumped up on his feet;
and quick as a whistle
and quick as a whistle
disappeared down the street.
Though our stockings were hung
by the chimney with cheer,
we know that St. Nicholas
won’t be coming this year.
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