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!”