December 16, 2009
By Anonymous

Said one reindeer to the other as they warmed themselves in a stall.
“Say, do we ever get a retirement? Or will we have to do it all?”
“What do you mean?” cried his friend,
“We’ve only been for centuries on end.”
“But is there anymore to our lives than flying around the globe?”
“Besides lugging an ever-growing Saint Nick around? You’d have to probe.”
“And delivering presents to girls and boys?”
“That last only until battery no longer employs?”
“Yes,” Dancer nodded, “Because if that’s all, this world is quite empty.”
“Well,” Vixen sighed, “at least you and I are in good company.”
“But I have heard of another,”
“Oh? And who is that, Brother?”
“The one mentioned in all those beautiful carols, don’t you know.”
“Santa Claus, Jack Frost, Rudolph, or sleighs riding in snow?”
“Neither. Try Emanuel, Savior, Christ, a Son,”
“And why is your interest so very much won?”
“He promises gifts that go beyond this day, and that come to all mankind.”
“But does not Santa give to all? I’ve seen all those presents, I am not blind.”
“Santa only gives to the nice, remember.”
“But who is he to reward those of the naughty member?”
“They say he did out of mercy. Out of love. All so he could heal.”
“But, Dancer, I find wisdom in Mr. Clause, with his holiday seal.”
“Well, this man sees differently than Santa does,”
“I guess so. Beyond, even, all that red and white fuzz.”
The two fell silent as their comrades each fell into nap.
Broken by a timid Vixen, “Santa lets you sit on his lap.”
“Yes, but His arms are open for all,
“more comforting than any ol’ elf shawl.”
Frustration began to heat within Vixen despite the icy air,
“However,” argued he, “Santa wishes all joy out of care.”
“That is true, but don’t you see?
“this man can give joy to you and me.”
“Why,” Dancer continued excitedly, his ideas expanding,
“He knows everyone and, in every sense, where they’re standing,
“he doesn’t have to ask your name--
“But I don’t think Santa’s to blame,
Interrupted Vixen, “Why do you put your master down so?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Dancer muttered, “Santa’s a jolly and kind fellow,
“But this Christ is the real master,
“and he leads to greener pasture,”
“for though our harnesses are trimmed with jingle bells of delight,”
“His chariot I would rather pull, His yoke is easy and His burden light.”

The author's comments:
This was for my project final in seminary (lds). I give credit to my cousin for some of the ideas, and ,ultimately, to whom this poem is about.

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