Clean Shave Santa
My brother Dave’s latest poem:
Santa was working,
When out in the cold,
Unearthed by mistake,
A new sort of mold.
Into his wiskers,
It started to thrive,
Almost like magic,
His beard came alive.
At first it was fun,
A pet furry white,
He gave it a name,
And kissed it goodnight.
While out giving gifts,
A girl left his fave,
Milk and cookies that-
she knew Santa’d crave.
The beard sprang to life,
It launched out and ate,
All of the goodies,
And even the plate.
So this year children,
You’ll be sure to see,
A clean shaved Santa,
Now smooth and beard free.
