Well isn't it strange that once a year
things get a bit confusing for a polar bear
When I poke my head through the ice
seeing all those elves running around like mice
The big old man with his beard so white
get real pumped up about this christmas night
Suddenly he and his elves are running in a frantic race
When otherwise things are rolling by at a leisurely pace
I can only watch in sharp toothed wonder
while the ice is nearly torn asunder
by tiny elves all night filling the fancy sled
meeting up to the demands of the man in red
All those wonderful gifts and toys
distributed to all the girls and the boys
by Santa the man of benevolent deed
sweeping through the air with amazing speed
But who will come to me and be nice,
me sitting humbly, by the north polar ice?
To give a gift to an old polar bear,
but then again, perhaps no one would dare?
by Rose-Marie Sandelius
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