Santa, busy at his workshop,
prepared for the next year;
When a little child walked in,
and asked in sweet, good cheer...
'Can I help you Santa?
You have so much work to do!
Should I sweep the sawdust,
Please.. let me help you! "
Santa smiled and nodded,
as the child knelt on the floor,
A helpful child is rare these days;
They whine at every chore!
When dusk was drawing near,
Santa looked up from his seat,
and it broke his gentle heart,
to see the child's poor feet...
Nails had pierced each tender foot,
and hurt His little hands,
Then Santa knew that little Child,
was part of God's big plans.
©
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem