Ode to Santa

(inspired by Mr Hanlon and his bold assertion, that as of December 26th, Mr Clause was a recipient of job-seekers allowance).

Santa, Santa, Santa

High on sugar,

Low on banter.

You work one, measly day,

Of one, important week,

The rest o’ the year,

You sit back 

And majestically, raise your feet.

How grand it must be,

To have your job,

If you were a mere proletariat,

You would be labelled,

A slob.

The tabloids would curse

Your state funded palace in Lapland,

And Mrs Clause,

Would do all the chores,

And buy your meals from Iceland.

Oh Santa, Santa, Santa,

How I envy thee,

Your sweatshop tactics

And burglar-esque antics,

Make you the King of Christmas Eve.

Santa, Santa, Santa,

Jovial elder from afar,

With the exception of J. Christ,

You are truly

December’s Superstar.