I’m Santa’s Chief Elf - want to hear my epistle?
Well, now I’m revolting; I’m blowing the whistle,
For seven long months I’ve been stuck in this grotto,
For six of those months Santa’s been almost blotto,
Last week he got mad and he chased little me,
With the very sharp end of a large Christmas tree,
You should see his appearance; he’s such a disgrace,
That tatty old beard; mince pie crumbs on his face,
Bad tempered and picky, not happy or jolly,
To make us work faster he pricks us, with holly
He’s sneaky for sure, when we’re all in a hurry,
He gives poor old Rudolph a hot parsnip curry,
Admittedly now, it does make him go faster,
But if you end up behind him, you’re facing disaster.
I’m resigned to the fact that I’m stuck in this grotto
But in the meantime each week I’ll still do the Elf Lotto…
©Jan Jack’s Perfect Verse 2010
