The week before Christmas, Santa was nowhere to be found,

not up in the crisp air or down upon the frozen ground.

He couldn't be located. No matter how hard they tried,

those elves looked all over but saw neither hair nor hide.

Where could that jolly old man be keeping himself?

Without him to deliver the goods, the toys wound down on the shelf

Ms. Claus baked a gingerbread house so spectacularly fragrant

that it drew all the reindeer and elves, and one chilly vagrant.

It wasn't enough, although she shouted his name with glee.

Apparently, Kris Kringle would now truly go down in history.

So she sent out some elves, each riding a reindeer,

all the way to the South Pole, searching far and near.

All their efforts and shouts mattered not one whit.

The red suit was still empty, for nobody else had the belly to fit.

Where was Santa Claus? St. Nicholas? Kris Kringle?

It wasn't until christmas Eve that he was supposed to mingle.

How in the world did he take a tumble into the U.S.A.?

(Actually, I do know. However, I don't like to say.)

He was discovered in Garden City in a snowdrift quite high.

The citizenry couldn't wake him, although they surely did try.

One enterprising woman set up a sling, so down he was slung,

snoozing and cruising to where he was flung.

Four men cautiously carried him through the Senior Center front door.

At the duplicate bridge table, there was always a need for one more.

One whispered, "It's St. Nicholas" Another said, "No"

The Director mumbled, "Don't you have places to go?"

So, they went, and they pondered, needing someplace to think.

Frankly, most of them gathered over the kitchen sink

near where, neatly disposed, sat the man in red long underwear.

There they could see that he was under an expert player's care.

North-South diagnosed the swirly-bearded man in his nightcap.

Obviously, Santa had not woken up from his nap.

He moved in his sleep, walking right out the door;

that's why the folks at the North Pole couldn't find him anymore.

The seasonal cold, with the landscape of snow fully drifted

had captured his feet and taken a man so gifted that he slid and

He rolled, twisting and turning, from his land

through Canada and America, ending up on Long Island.

Shaking him gently, and whispering in his ear,

getting him up without causing Santa to fear,

East-West administered the best medicine, saying,

"We believe in you, Santa, and know where you've been."

"We Believe! we believe!," the other players called out.

Santa blinked open his eyes, and looked all about.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Goodness Gracious Garden City Me!

I've had such an adventure, most of which I didn't see.

The wife won't believe me. The critters will stare,

wondering how in the world I wandered out of there.

Have you all been good? I can see that you are,

and each bridge player has earned an individual night star.

I won't tell you which one. I'll whisper to you asleep in your bed.

That way, you'll all have your own special star in your head.

It will be the one on which you can think, wish, and dream.

You'll imagine your star, and you surely will beam.

Now, I must be off, but not East, West or South.

It's the North Pole for me as surely as I open my mouth."

Santa patted each back, then with a wave and a grin,

he headed northward home, another journey soon to begin.

Carol Anderson