James Whitcomb Riley - Who Santy-Claus WuzJames Whitcomb Riley - Who Santy-Claus Wuz
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Jes` a little bit o` feller--I remember still--
Ust to almost cry fer Christmas, like a youngster will.
Fourth o` July`s nothin` to it!--New Year`s ain`t a smell!
Easter-Sunday--Circus-day--jes` all dead in the shell!
Lawzy, though! at night, you know, to set around an` hear
The old folks work the story off about the sledge an` deer,
An` "Santy" skootin` round the roof, all wrapt in fur an` fuzz--
Long afore
I knowed who
"Santy-Claus" wuz!
Ust to wait, an` set up late, a week er two ahead;
Couldn`t hardly keep awake, ner wouldn`t go to bed;
Kittle stewin` on the fire, an` Mother settin` here
Darnin` socks, an` rockin` in the skreeky rockin`-cheer;
Pap gap`, an` wonder where it wuz the money went,
An` quar`l with his frosted heels, an` spill his liniment;
An` me a-dreamin` sleigh-bells when the clock `ud whir an` buzz,
Long afore
I knowed who
"Santy-Claus" wuz!
Size the fire-place up an` figger how "Ole Santy" could
Manage to come down the chimbly, like they said he would;
Wisht `at I could hide an` see him--wunderd what he`d say
Ef he ketched a feller layin` fer him thataway!
But I _bet_ on him, an` _liked_ him, same as ef he had
Turned to pat me on the back an` say, "Look here, my lad,
Here`s my pack,--jes` he`p yourse`f, like all good boys does!"
Long afore
I knowed who
"Santy-Claus" wuz!
Wisht that yarn was true about him, as it `peared to be--
Truth made out o` lies like that-un`s good enough fer me!--
Wisht I still wuz so confidin` I could jes` go wild
Over hangin` up my stockin`s, like the little child
Climbin` in my lap to-night, an` beggin` me to tell
`Bout them reindeers, and "Old Santy" that she loves so well
I`m half sorry fer this little-girl-sweetheart of his--
Long afore
She knows who
"Santy-Claus" is!
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