The bearded man all filled and happy
Dressed in bright red, stomping his might.
The priest was dressed in a faded white,
Worry creased forehead, pockets all empty.
They set out one morn, each with a bag,
One was full and laden, the other was bare.
One had joy, the other to fill with what's spare.
Want and woe held together in a cloth rag.
And everywhere people were most eager
To grab the good and dump their bad
But that's the truth of all man, though sad
To seize the best and give off their meagre.
At the end of the day they met down the path,
And sat down silently beside for a long while,
Emptied of happiness, filled with man's whine,
To be remembered only when want again starts.
Said the priest 'We've done our best anyway,
Hope there's still some good cheer left in you'
Santa slowly replied 'And glad tidings to you too.
I still worry, most of them think it's my birthday'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem