Pajamaed children, early to bed,
"Or Santa won't come," they always said.
Excitement mingled with a dash of fear,
Would he visit with his eight reindeer?
Young eyes soon close to sugar plum dreams,
But open too soon in the streetlight beams.
Quietly creeping down the endless hall,
On cushioned carpet her footsteps fall.
Peek around the corner at regal tree,
Reveals a visitor. Is it he?
Streetlights illume a glowing, white beard.
Heart races, rabbit's square dance, in her fear
Small feet scurry back to bed.
Warm, down quilt over young head.
Morning, at last, "Rise and Shine!"
Runs to the tree. What does she find?
A giant, stuffed monkey (sibling's gift)
Perched under the tree, shiny, white midriff.
Was it this all along? A trick of the light?
Or did Santa sleep in her home last night?
- Wendy, 1990