Dearest Santa

I used to sit upon your knee
And dream of presents under the tree.
And now to prove that you exist
I’m writing you this little list.
But first an insufficient thank you
That—I know—is overdue.

Thanks for all the Mother Goose,
One Fish, Two Fish and Dr. Seuss.
Thank you for the Napping House,
Walk Two Moons and Ralph S. Mouse.

Thanks for Christie and for Poirot
And for those I’ll read tomorrow,
Like Murder is Easy and Taken at the Tide,
And The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side,

Dasher and Dancer and other reindeer,
For bringing me playwrights like William Shakespeare,
I thank you for Othello and Emilia,
For Romeo, Hamlet and Ophelia.

More things like this would bring me cheer
Just as they have every other year.
No one else can do the deed—
Santa, you’re the only one who can succeed.

But if it’s a dilemma
Between David Copperfield or Emma,
I’d thank you for Jane Austen
And her worlds that I get lost in.

I like to read of Stephanie Plum
And whatever adventures that may come.
My favorite parts are with Grandma Mazur
And the consequent ordeals Steph must endure.

Just one final thing
To the end of this linguistic string.
I admit I am naïve,
But you deliver and so I believe.
So thank you, Santa, thank you,
And now I bid adieu.