To the children, I note, with alarm
that this year we will miss all his charm.
Seems that Santa is ill
and this Christmas he will
be attending obesity farm.
Let me tell you the genuine reason,
as he packed all the bags for the season
he attached all the tags
to resealable bags.
Helped himself though and I am not teasin'.
He has reflux and forty-three chins
a balloon-like fat face when he grins.
And a belly so vast
that he went on a fast
but at night he eats cookies from tins.
So I'd say that we need to persuade
to take over this great masquerade
not a nerdy dyslexic
but a thin anorexic
at the helm of this proud reindeercade.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Tee-hee!