Up on my tiptoes, I peer
from behind the stairs tho I fear.
What if I’m caught, is it worth the shot
to see Santa delivering my toys?
I look for the sign he’s been here
but the cookies and milk are still there.
Under the Christmas tree, the skirt lays bare.
No evidence yet he has come.
A heavy sigh I let out,
but cover my mouth before I shout.
“I’ve been a good girl this year;
where are you Santa, do you hear?”
Then thumping shakes the roof
I take that as enough proof.
I run down the hall,
my teddy taking a fall,
but I can’t get caught spying on Santa.
Now in my toasty bed,
into my pillow I sink my head.
Off to dreamland I go
for when I wake it’ll be Christmas morn’s show
’cause Santa has come
(Inspiration for this poem was No. 13d, Danse des cygnes. Allegro moderato)