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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A Christmas poem. Also part of children of the lake. Garth wishes to see Santa, but the magic is ruined by the mystic lake.

Submitted: January 06, 2013

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Submitted: January 06, 2013



Christmas eve marked, how long was the day?

asked little boy Garth, at dusk as he played,

his little guitar, shape of a star,

four strings for his fingers for sound of the heart.

he ran up the stairs, notes float through the air

in a jumbled up mess, he didn’t quite care

this year he was sure, it would be his turn

to see big jolly sir in his coat made of fur.


The story begins at the young age of four

he was stirred by some shuffling outside of his door.

he twisted the knob and glanced with one eye

and spotted a shadow too small for some guy.

he picked up a flashlight and crept down the steps

the christmas tree glowing downstairs to his left.

Expecting a burglar, Garth sure found it shocking,

to catch a few elves with hands in the stockings.

but they weren’t stealing, just stuffing them fat

with candies and goodies, no need to be wrapped.


Garth wanted some answers so he shouted out “Hey!”

He hadn’t heard bells or the big man’s old sleigh.

What was the meaning behind all this nonsense,

not that they weren’t welcome, it just wasn’t constant

with what he believed and read in his stories

either curled up with mom or big sister Lori.

The elves were surprised to see him awake,

had they made too much noise or some other mistake?


Garth was a good kid with innocent thoughts

and the elves were ahead, they had time to stop.

“Well Garth, my boy, here’s just how it is,

Santa only has time for so many kids.

So we jet around with packs on our backs,

We cover the houses not on Santa’s path.

We make sure the children get what they deserve,

We have our own list that you may observe.”

Garth looked at the list and spotted his name,

He started to wonder if he was insane.

Was he perhaps dreaming? It seems hard to tell,

If what he was seeing was some magic spell,

For the next thing he knew he was lying in bed,

Starting to wonder, “What’s up with my head?”


Six Christmases later, Garth brushes his teeth,

Getting ready for bed, not really for sleep.

Under the covers with a glow from the screen,

he played on his game at level extreme.

Six Christmases later, he hoped that he would,

Spot jolly Saint Nick fly out from the woods.

Keeping a constant check out of the window,

Head starting to rest upon his white pillow.

Six Christmases later, Garth wasn’t aware,

That at age of ten old Santa was there.

He had fallen victim to Sandman’s sleep magic,

And dreamed while the North Pole delivered his package.


Skip a few years to Garth, age of twelve.

No longer believing the night with the elves.

He takes his guitar to the woods by the town,

On christmas eve night and plucks a few sounds.


On four strings the notes are heavy and deep,

He plays for the lake and the moon.

The rock shines a light and lulls him to sleep,

The dreamscape replays him the tune.

His song is an echo, he floats in the black.

Faintly, the boy hears a jingle.

A sled is approaching, it carries a sack.

It’s driven by jolly Chris Kringle.

It’s coming in fast, no reindeer attached,

The back of his neck starts to tingle.

The presence is odd, yes something is off,

The old man is ghostly and wrinkled.


The haunting has ended and Garth is awake,

dead center and floating somehow in the lake.

he frantically swims his way to the coast,

he grabs his guitar, he’s pale as a ghost.

He takes one last look out towards the water,

then heads his way home, “Gee whiz, what a shocker!”


Our little boy Garth is now grown and a father.

His search for Saint Nich’las no longer a bother.

Christmas Eve once again and now it’s lights out,

He believes once again his son is about,

Awake in his bed and hoping to see,

The same sled and reindeer in every kid’s dreams.


Later that night, old Garth is awakened,

Did he hear a noise or was he mistaken?

He slowly gets up and searches around,

The voice of his son was the only sound,

That he was now hearing, to whom was he speaking?

The hour is late, why’s he awake sneaking?


Then that’s when he saw them,

The boy and the red man.

Garth froze in his tracks,

What could he have said then?

Saint Nick didn’t panic,

He looked at Garth Winters,

Eyes from the frost and said,

“I am the Gift Giver.

Tonight is, however, when taxes are paid,

Tonight and forever, your boy I will take.”

With a sinister smile,

Saint Nick changes shape,

To the same ghostly presence,

Garth met at the lake.


There was smoke, there was light,

They vanished that night.

And Garth had no mem’ry of it.

Of Santa, the lake,

Or the years he did wait,

For a phantom to take his beloved.


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