Santa’s Barrel
Father Christmas had no apparel
So ended up inside a barrel
He was taking a long, relaxing soak
A big old bath for a big old bloke
As his weary eyes he gently closed
And his jolly old head it gently dozed
He failed to see or even spy
Out of the corner of even one eye
His pile of clothes being swept away
By mischievous elves hard at play
Every last stitch was long, long gone
Suit and socks – and his flannel long johns
When Santa stirred he saw through the steam
Only bubbles could now hide his self-esteem
Outside the door he heard elf guffaws
A prank had been pulled on old Santa Claus
“Bring them back now!” he shouted with vim
How had he let them get the better of him?
For all through these many North Pole years
Santa was the prankster without peer
Sneezing powder – it was readily used
Elves all “Aaa-tewing” were not amused
Invisible ink – he thought that was a riot!
Each elf caught out after every elf tried it
His favourite no doubt was the fat fake spider
Shrieks for a week when that dropped beside ya
But now it seemed the tables had turned
A trick or two the elves had now learned
Father Christmas chuckled quietly to himself
He’d been done like a kipper – done by an elf
The door swung open and stopped with a thud
In the doorway was a big barrel of wood
Attached was a large note Santa could read:
“To make your exit – this you will need.
It’s cutting edge fashion – it’s all the talk…
to be found on every Paris catwalk.”
A towel would have done to hide his modesty
But like his clothes, there were none to see
So he stepped out of the bath and into the keg
The barrel was bottomless so out stuck each leg
He shuffled to his bedroom where his clothes lay
Elves leapt out shouting: “We’re king pranksters today!”
Copyright: Phil Jones 2014