THE POET WAS AS EXCITED AS A CHILD ABOUT CHRISTMAS. (1 )

Suggestion to visitors:  you could print these pages, staple them together, and and put the result in that secret drawer where you'll be putting Christmas presents in a few months. 
        Ernestine's fanciful visions of life at the North Pole appeal to the young at heart of every age.  Only the most obstinate of Grinches could fail to appreciate the off-the-wall humor and whimsical absurdities that twinkle from every page. 

        As excited as a child about the approaching holiday, the poet was able to empathize with her suspense-filled children. On Christmas Eve she would ask with a kind, tentative smile, "Do you suppose you'd like to open just one gift before tomorrow morning?"

        Oh, could we really?  With this precious privilege, how much easier it was, no matter how simple the gift, for my siblings and me to endure the longest night of the year.

        The poet's prolific imagination was nourished by her affection for Santa Claus and the wife she was confident he had.  In "A Christmas Mix-Up," she employs one of her favorite poetic devices.  The first and third lines of every verse contain a musical inside rhyme.  ("She mounted the seat, well-polished and neat" . . . "As above her abode, Mrs. Santa Claus rode . . . ")  It's a marvel that Ernestine could perform this stunt so gracefully in verse after verse.

       After the unfortunate mix-up occurs, the poet was asked by Jack and Jill to revise one verse.  A boy writes Santa with some bitterness:  "Thanks for the doll and the pink parasol—Go sit on an iceberg . . . . Bill."  Ernestine amended the offending line to "But don't bother with me next year . . . . Bill."  I prefer the inspired irreverence of the original version, and I think Santa does, too.

       A season or two after her Christmas mix-up, Santa's spouse manages to stir up a surprising surprise and some incredible (to a Grinch) old-fashioned MAGIC.  By the time we've finished reading about these events one thing is clear:  The private life of Santa Claus is never dull.

      As fond as Ernestine was of the holiday's festivities, she expressed her deeper feelings in "The Little Tin Trumpet."

A trumpet small and jolly

And happy as could be,

Once dangled by a dolly

Upon a Christmas tree.

"I'll sing the Christmas story!

I love it so!" he cried;

And filled with timid glory,

The little trumpet tried.

"Be quiet!" said the dolly,

Such a racket!  Deary me!

To try to sing is folly—

Your song is all off‑key."

But still the trumpet jingled

His happy little note;

His tinsel tonsils tingled;

(His heart was in his throat!)

An angel touched him lightly

With magic (Oh, it's true!)

"Sing on!" she told him brightly;

"The world has need of you!"

The love that filled his singing,

Now everyone could hear;

And so his song went ringing

Triumphant, true and clear.

The little trumpet glistened;

His tune was sweet and mild;

He sang and children listened . . .

And everybody smiled!

A REMARKABLE HAPPENING

Santa Claus, finishing turkey and pie,

Rose from the table and uttered a sigh,

And said with a wink at his little round wife:

"As a cook, Mrs. S., you're the crown of my life!"

Then brushing the crumbs of his banquet away,

He ran from the house and jumped into his sleigh.

Climbing a roof, Santa sat on its peak,

Sorting his gifts with his tongue in his cheek.

Then smiling, he waved at the slumbering town,

And climbing a chimney, he let himself down.

But suddenly, dear, his expression of buoyance

Changed to a look of astonished annoyance!

His holiday dinner had made him so stout,

He couldn't get down--and he couldn't get out!

He wiggled and wriggled, but Santa, by Jim'ney,

Was stuck like a jolly red cork in the chimney!

                                                                   Grace Lawrence

"Help!" Santa cried with the wind in his beard.

Windowpanes opened, and nightcaps appeared.

People ran out, rather scantily shirted;

The Mayor was called, the police were alerted!

Children looked on with delighted hysterics

As firemen worked with their pulleys and derricks

Till finally Santa emerged with a flop,

Coming uncorked with an audible pop!

Well, somehow, my dears, he delivered his gifts,

Then homeward he flew over mountains and drifts;

And humbled, and puzzled, and risking her censure,

He told Mrs. Claus of his hapless adventure.

Patting his shoulder, she comforted him.

"Nonsense!" she said.  "You are splendidly trim!

“Come finish the pie--and don't worry or fear--

“The chimneys are just getting smaller, my dear!”