It must be sugar cookie,
He’s had these chest pains for weeks
But doctors don’t make house calls to the North Pole.
He won’t go to them,
Blood tests make him faint,
Hospital gowns always flap open,
And waiting rooms upset his squeamish stomach.
Its only indigestion anyway, he thinks,
However, while feeding his reindeer
He feels an enormous fist
Grabbing his jolly heart,
That won’t stop squeezing.
He can’t breathe,
His beautiful white world he loves melts to black.
He drops his jelly belly in the snow.
I flee, wailing from the toy factory,
Elves all hold little hands,
Rudolph’s nose blinks like a sad ambulance.
There is no more Christmas
My beloved Santa Claus is dead.