From icy heights of navy blue
a sled lands low and silent.
Agile boots descend the flue
towing gifts for slumbering tenants.
Kris Kringle, Santa Claus, St. Nick
Mystic are his ways
Depositing treasures across the isthmus of twilight
Though born from the pairing of tradition
And of commercial convention
He embodies the ultimate symbol
Of love omniscient;
For surely, white-bearded jolly men are common.
Yet, when winter comes, each assumes a likeness
A boisterous laugh and twinkle,
a ready smile.
How could anyone
Call this jolly iconoclast into question?
Magic boots and reindeer alight
on this most holy night in winter.
An eternal myth, perhaps,
yet one cannot deny
donning the Santa hat
brings forth the timeless
wonder of Christmas.
— Annie Chiappetta