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Edgar Guest - His Santa Claus
Work rating: Low

He will not come to him this year with all his old-time joy,
    An imitation Santa Claus must serve his little boy;
    Last year he heard the reindeers paw the roof above his head,
    And as he dreamed the kindly saint tip-toed about his bed,
    But Christmas Eve he will not come by any happy chance;
    This year his kindly Santa Claus must guard a trench in France.

    His mother bravely tries to smile; last Christmas Eve was gay;
    Last Christmas morn his daddy rose at dawn with him to play;
    This year he`ll hang his stocking by the chimney, but the hands
    That filled it with the joys he craved now serve in foreign lands.
    He is too young to understand his mother`s troubled glance,
    But he that was his Santa Claus is in a trench in France.

    Somewhere in France this Christmas Eve a soldier brave will be,
    And all that night in fancy he will trim a Christmas tree;
    And all that night he`ll live again the joys that once he had
    When he was good St. Nicholas unto a certain lad.
    And he will wonder if his boy, by any sad mischance,
    Will find his stocking empty just because he serves in France.
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