'Twas Christmas morning, and all through the house, there was no room for nothin'; not a mouse, not a louse. All night my son nestled so snug in his bed while visions of merchandise danced in his head.
And now he'd discover that dreams CAN come true. That's the magic of Christmas. And Mastercard, too. The lad sprang from his bed to see what he'd gotten; if crime doesn't pay what about being rotten?
But he knew right away that Santa'd come through; heck, his take stretched from here to South Timbuktu!
The stocking he'd hung by the TV with care, was soon emptied; its contents tossed there, there and there.
Then away to the tree he flew like a flash tearing into the gift wrap, ignoring the sash.
More rapid than lasers his treasures they came; he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Here's G.I. Joe trucks! And a few Dino-Riders! And spaceships and jets and airplanes and gliders!
"And a yellow speedboat that runs in the tub!" (Well, it DID. Till it broke. Right now it's a sub.)
Pls add 12pts air here. Thx, KimM.
There were plastic toy soldiers so small and petite, they couldn't be seen till they punctured your feet.
And there was a robot; if you run, it'll catch you. (Well, it DID. Till it broke. Right now it's a statue.)
He got musical books that are battery-run. They play "It's a Small World" till your brain has gone numb. There was a drum, too, for the boy from ol' Santer. It was loud. Till I broke it. (Right now it's a planter.)
My son's eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry! Why, this was more stuff than Sears-Roebuck could carry! He spoke not a word and kept straight at his duty: unwrapping and sorting and counting his booty.
He was cheering and whooping, a right jolly young elf. And I laughed as I watched him in spite of myself.
"And now for the BIG stuff!" he screamed with delight; the lad unveiled new gifties well into the night.
By then we were neck-deep in ribbons and bows, and undisturbed gift-packs of little-kid clothes,
And paper and tissue and mountains of boxes, and undisturbed gift-packs of little-kid soxes.
I turned to his mother, but I couldn't find her. Was I to her front, to her side, or behind her?
We were buried in goods that were all for our boy; every game, every puzzle, every book, every toy.
But a squint of his eye, and a jerk of his head, soon gave me to know I had something to dread.
The sentence he whined I shall never forget . . . "DAAAaaaaaaAAAD! I didn't get a Mad Scientist set!