Letters From Santa By Bronwyn Ellis

Dear little children near and far, No matter just how good you are, I've had enough I'm sad to say, I won't be working Christmas day. And so I write my grave confession, I've fallen to the lands recession, My reindeer Rudolph broke his hoof, My heating bill is through the roof, My Ebay order never came, And Christmas day is forecast rain. The elves refuse to make the toys, For all you lovely girls and boys, Behavior that's beyond the pale, They've gone on strike like royal mail, I lost the licence for my sleigh, When coppers stopped me other day. I've caught the flu, I'm tired and stressed, My Christmas tree was repossessed, And still I'm swamped with festive lists, Demanding me to purchase gifts, You kids will have to stick with coal, I can't buy presents on the dole, I got sacked from my nine to five, No thanks to my employer Clive, My Christmas suit is old and torn, From all the times the things been worn, My wife left through my drinking habit, And now lives with the Easter rabbit. I've cancelled Christmas time this year, It's full of stress and far too dear, December drives me round the twist, It's better if I don't exist.

Copyright ©2009  Bronwyn Ellis

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