Oh Dear

Received a photo in the mail today from S., which inspired two very different little poems, which shall be titleless:

I

‘Tis the season
to be jolly
make your lists
and hang the holly

Kids are wired
Santa’s tired
looks as if
his wit’s expired

Poor little V.
has missed her nap
doesn’t want
on Santa’s lap

It'll all change
in a little while
when he brings toys--
then see her smile!

 II

even myths eventually
tire of themselves
and yet ...
for some,
the elation stays,
if only
in memory


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[They really should make better-fitting beards...      :) ]