It’s that time of season, it’s that time of year.
When Santa’s reindeers leave a sickly smear.
They fly in fast from The North Pole.
Leaving a streaky brown from their poop holes.
All the kiddies love finding their poop trails.
Some are so big you’d think laid by whales!
“Santa’s coming!” said one little whippersnapper.
And then slipped on a sloppy reindeer crapper.
Another building a snowman, while I sip eggnog.
But instead of a carrot nose, used a reindeer’s log.
The sight of reindeer brings a tear to my brown eye.
And from my rear, my own Christmas miracle does fly.
Now I must go and give a generous brown gift.
But to get it all out I’ll have to give my cheeks a lift.
Wrapped it sits waiting, under the Christmas tree.
Then opened in a week, and I’ll yell “Whoopee!”