I was a young boy of eight, who just couldn’t wait,
For Santa to come and not be too late.
So, I climbed on the roof with a broom in my hand,
To clean out the chimney, but as I started to stand,
I stepped on a tile and slipped with my shoe,
I dropped the broom down and it got stuck in the flue.
I was afraid to tell Dad, I was afraid he’d be mad,
That he’d yell at me loud, and say I was bad.
But I knew what was coming later that night,
I didn’t sleep well from fear and from fright.
But then came the sounds of those hooves on the roof,
Soon it would follow the proof of my goof.
There was silence around for too long a time,
I started to think I was losing my mind.
But then came the screams from our dark living room,
There’s no secret now; Santa found our old broom.
He was hanging right there in front of a us all,
Six inches away from a slamming bang fall.
He laughed and he giggled and he looked right at me,
He asked if I’d help him get his feet free.
He stayed for a while, but with his sleigh had to zoom,
He left lots of nice gifts but he took the old broom.
As the night ended well, I felt awed wonderstruck,
It was the best Christmas of all, The Night Santa Got Stuck.
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