The Dirigible Balloon
Poetry for Children

Father Christmas Missed Us

It's Christmas Eve at ours and dec's adorn the wall,
Mum is hanging mistletoe and tinsle in the hall.
Carollers are carolling, the snow is soft and white
but still I can't help noticing that something isn't right.

Father Christmas missed us, he didn't leave a gift,
no treat for me beneath the tree, I'm feeling really miffed.
There's nothing in the stocking, I'm in a state of shock,
(a stocking with no stock in's just a great big empty sock).

I know I've not been naughty, a bully or a brat,
kicked the cat, pulled a plait or anything like that.
I'm quite polite and pleasant, I've been so good all year,
yet with no presents present there's a lack of Christmas cheer.

I'm starting now to feel that Santa isn't real,
he's just a myth and all the gifts are carefully concealed
by mums and dads who buy them from supermarket shelves,
instead of manufactured by a team of magic elves.

It's silly to believe each chilly Christmas Eve,
a man takes flight with whiskers white in just one night to leave
a gift for every little girl and boy in every nation,
it sounds far fetched and quite a stretch of my imagination.

And if in fact he's fat, and partial to a snack,
tell me please how he can squeeze inside a chimney stack?
All those sweets and treats would make his belly swell
(plus down our street we've all got central heating now as well).

But I'd better get some zeds so I guess I'll get to bed
and with a sigh I close my eyes to rest my weary head ...
Then when the morning comes I gaze across the floor
at such a scene, he's really been! With toys and gifts galore!

And with my eye I spy a note upon the shelf,
addressed to me that seems to be from Mr. C. himself:
"Sorry I was late, I got here when I could,
I had to bring some extra things because you've been so good."

I rush up to the roof to try and look for proof,
I have to squint but see the print, a hint of reindeer hoof,
then right before my eyes it fades away from view
to leave aglow the Christmas snow, all crumpy, crisp and new.

It's Christmas Day at ours, we're having such a ball,
it seems that Father Christmas hasn't missed us after all.
That's how I know it's true, and now you know it too,
If you don't believe in Santa, he still believes in you.

About the Writer

Dale Neal

Dale has been published online and in print. You will find his work in The Best Ever Book of Funny Poems (Pan Macmillan), My Socks have gone Bonkers (Fantastic Books Publishing), Watcher of the Skies (Emma Press), Guest on the Farm and How to Follow Your Dream (Little Stories: Bedtime Books storytelling app.). He has two children's picture books (My Grandad is an Alien and The Dinosaur and Me) being published in 2022 with Ventorros Press.