At two o'clock on Christmas morn
It seems that I was quite forlorn.
But mom and dad were still in bed
Each one a saintly sleepy head.
With only me up and about
My Stealth like oxen with the gout
I opened presents like a boar,
Greedy kid, I wished for more.
Once I finished my little rout,
I hoped that no one would find out,
But they were onto brats like me.
My having left tons of debris.
My kindly folks did not put on
About my raid before the dawn
They whispered as they let me sleep
No scolding lectures, not a peep.
My parents understood us kids.
Although we did ignore their bids.
And should my grandkids do the sane
I'll wink and say, "Santa's to blame."
(c) 2006, Henry L. Lefevre