A Christmas Problem Kitty, December 14, 2018December 19, 2018 0 0 Read Time:1 Minute, 37 Second This comes from the no-cover book I call the Bunny Book. The first story is about a child named Bunny, and that’s why I call it that! A CHRISTMAS PROBLEM “What do you think my grandmother said, Telling Christmas stories to me To-night, when I went and coaxed and coaxed, Laying my head upon her knee? “She thinks (she really told me so) That good Saint Nicholas, long ago Was old and gray As he is to-day,— Going around with his loaded sleigh, Wrapped about with his robe of fur; With lots of frolic, and fun, and stir, A cheery whoop and a merry call,— And never a jolly boy at all! “She thinks he’s driven through frost and snows, As every Christmas comes and goes, With jingling bells and a bag of toys, Ho, ho! for good little girls and boys, With a carol gay And a Clear the way! For a rollicking, merry Christmas day,— With just exactly the same reindeers Prancing on, for a thousand years! “Grandmother knows ‘most everything,— All that I ask her she can tell; Rivers and towns in geography, And the hardest words she can always spell. But the wisest ones, sometimes they say, Mistake, and even grandmother may! “If Santa Claus never had been a boy How would he always know so well What all the boys are longing for On Christmas day,—can grandmother tell? “Why does he take the shiny rings, Baby houses, and dolls with curls, And dainty lockets, and necklaces, Never to boys, but all to girls? Why does he take the skates and sleds, The Bats and balls, and arrows and bows, And trumpets, and drums, and guns—hurrah! To all the boys, does grandmother know? “But there is a thing that puzzles me,— When Santa Claus was a boy at play And hung a stocking on Christmas Eve, Who could have filled it for Christmas day?” About Post Author Kitty celticprincess1105@gmail.com Happy 0 0 % Sad 0 0 % Excited 0 0 % Sleepy 0 0 % Angry 0 0 % Surprise 0 0 % 0 0 votes Article Rating Loading Likes... Antique Books Christmas Holidays Poems childrenChristmasfather christmaspoemsantaWinter