Brian Allgar/Lewis Carroll You are fat, Father Christmas, your tummy is shocking! The chimney may prove a tight fit To deliver the things that I’d like in my stocking — I urge you to diet a bit.
A cat with a grin that will gradually fade, An egg with a shell that is broken, Flamingoes for summer, when croquet is played, And some hedgehogs, polite and well-spoken.
A teapot where dormice may peacefully snooze, A potion that makes me grow smaller To pass little doorways whenever I choose, And a mushroom to render me taller.
Above all, a Snark who would tickle my head While I teach him to count up to five — But be careful you don’t bring a Boojum instead, Or you’ll vanish before you arrive.
Sylvia Fairley/Edgar Allan Poe Though the midnight air is shocking, I’ll be hanging up my stocking Hoping that you may come knocking, bringing Christmas gifts galore. First, a gift that would be calming; desolate since the embalming I’ve a yearning for a charming souvenir of lost Lenore, Of that rare and radiant maiden, placed beside my chamber door.
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