Dad Burn It
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For many years at Christmas,
'twas not a single gift.
We had a tree and stockings,
but we spent the day bereft.
We'd laugh and sing on Christmas Eve,
and gifts were our desire,
but every year inside the hearth
my father lit a fire.
On Christmas morn at 1 a.m.
we'd hear an awful noise.
It always woke up Mom and Dad,
and all us girls and boys.
We'd run out in the living roomand shout each other's names.
We'd stand and watch as Santa screamed
and danced among the flames.
He'd shoot back up the chimney,
and fly out in the dark.
We'd watch our Christmas shooting star
come down in City Park.
But this year that won't happen.
My father found a way
to warm the house in wintertime
and not lose Christmas Day.
For all those years on Christmas morn'
old Santa took a beating.He need no longer fear the hearth.
We now have central heating.