"The Wreath and Candles," A MERRY CHRISTMAS CAROL

VERSE:

The Wreath and Candles Christmas Stamp

Was the first emblem of its festive kind.

It graced greeting cards and Santa’s letters.

By the Postmaster General, it was designed.

The seal sold out oh so very quickly!

The printer had to print many more.

So, the Christmas cards were decorated

By the time the post reached your front door.

 

CHORUS:

The postman’s motto or so it goes,

Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail,

Or Christmas traffic with the Western winds,

Shall keep the postmen from delivering mail!

 

VERSE:

Like a star on top of a Christmas tree,

The stamps were elegant and right on time. 

Each year after that, like fine artwork,

The new seals were drawn line by line.

Just a tiny red and green painting,

You stick with a lick of your tongue.

The stamps never became outdated.

Loved so much, there's a song to be sung.

 

CHORUS:

The postman’s motto or so it goes,

Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail,

Or Christmas traffic with the Western winds,

Shall keep the postmen from delivering mail!

 

BRIDGE:

Santa Claus delivers toys on Christmas Eve,

To all those who write him a magic letter.

Blessed with a holiday Christmas stamp,

The correspondence becomes all-the-better.

 

CHORUS:

The postman’s motto or so it goes,

Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail,

Or Christmas traffic with the Western winds,

Shall keep the postmen from delivering mail!

TAG:

The wreath and candles Christmas stamp.

The wreath and candles Christmas stamp.

 

Copyright 2023 Jennifer Waters

Old Faithful: The Story of Cheyenne the Horse

There once was a horse named Old Faithful. 

He could talk like a regular man.

The four-legged friend was so grateful.

His family called him Cheynenne. 

He was there when you needed him.

He was there when you called. 

If you wanted a ride somewhere, 

He was more than enthralled. 

The cowboys loved his strut and spark.

He escaped several deathly shoot outs.

He watched shooting stars fall at dark.

He liked flaming campfires, no doubts. 

If you hear about a brown horse, 

That sounds like it could be him,

Ask them if he spoke aloud, 

And if he sometimes took a swim. 

The tumbleweed burned in his blood.

Oh, how he liked to carry a tune!

If you fell off his leather saddle,

His neck worked just like a spoon. 

He never left you all alone.

No matter how lost you became. 

He was a friend to the friendless.

That’s how he got his famous name. 

There once was a horse named Old Faithful. 

 

Copyright 2022 Jennifer Waters

American Valentine: The Story of Esther Howland

American Valentine, 

Won’t you be mine?

Send me a card on time,

And make your love note rhyme. 

Lace paper and cupid

Make last-minute notes stupid.

Bouquets of roses

Lead to lifelong proposes.

With glue and flowers,

Romance showers.

Trim a beating heart. 

That’s a place to start. 

Stick soul in your card. 

Stencils avant garde.

Sign your name with love.

Envelopes fit like a glove.  

My heart is warm to you. 

To one who loves so true.

American Valentine, 

Won’t you be mine?

 

Copyright 2022 Jennifer Waters

The Muffin Man: The Story of a Baker on Drury Lane

One cold, rainy March morning, a baker on Drury Lane near Covent Garden awoke to the sound of rain upon his windowsill. His first thought was of the blacksmith in town who had been threatening to duel him for his lady love, a schoolteacher named Miss Olivia Davies.

“I hope I don’t see that crazy blacksmith today!” he moaned. “I really don’t want to go out in the rain to deliver my muffins anyhow.”

“Rise and shine!” said Ragamuffin, the baker’s orange cat. “You’ve got work to do! You can’t be late for your morning run.”

The baker’s cat had always spoken to him at the most inopportune moments. This morning was no different. The feline caused the baker to crawl from bed and greet the dreary day, nonetheless. 

Long ago, the baker rescued the shivering orange kitten from a storm, and ever since that night, the cat had spoken in gratitude. The baker sometimes wondered if the cat really talked, or if the words came from his own sleepy thoughts.

Not long after having his morning tea, he set out with Ragamuffin, his umbrella, and a fresh batch of warm English muffins. Last night, he had burned a batch of muffins, which he rarely did, but he had to stay up until the wee hours of the morning to finish a new bunch.

Dressed in his flour-dusted apron, a flat cap, and a woolen coat, a broad oilcloth cape covered his body to help him shed rainwater. He walked past the brick row houses with their laundry lines strung between windows. The cobblestone streets were damp from morning fog and rain. Gas lamps flickered on iron posts, and their glow caught the early mist. Iron railings and horse troughs lined the street corners. 

The baker listened to the clatter of hooves and the rattle of horse-drawn carriages on the cobbled streets. Delivery wagons carried bread, milk, and coal. Wet children darted between the carriages with baskets and penny toys. They stepped in puddles while church bells rang in the distance. The baker wished for a sunny day without the rain.

“Get your muffins while they’re hot!” he called, as he rang a handheld bell. He moved briskly down the street with a spring in his step. He carried his basket of warm yeasted muffins beneath a cloth, bound for breakfast tables and tea trays.

The muffins were arranged in neat rows, wrapped in linen or flannel cloths, which helped to retain heat and absorb moisture. His basket was covered with a small canvas awning and lined with tin and wood to keep out the rain. 

Ragamuffin was soaked from the drizzle as he followed the baker. They passed by a wet chimney sweep, a drenched flower seller, and a tired paperboy in the rain. 

“Glad I didn’t clean myself last night,” the cat quipped, catching raindrops on his tongue.

“A bath every now and then keeps away the fleas,” the baker scolded. The air filled with the smell of coal smoke and wet leather. “Don’t wait for the downpour!”

Each morning, the baker had regular customers who enjoyed his warm English muffins with salted butter. As he stopped by his customers’ homes, he delivered a morning treat like no other. Knocking on their doors, he handed them their fresh muffins one at a time. 

“Good day, fine sir,” Mrs. Esme Mason said as she stood on her doorstep. Her children gathered ‘round her inside the doorway for their morning tasty joy.

“We all know The Muffin Man!” called a woman on the street wearing a bonnet. She dug in her pocket for change. Her bustle skirt was wet from the rain.

“I’d love some of your muffins, please,” asked a man wearing a dripping wet top hat. He took a few muffins from the basket and petted Ragamuffin on the head.

Like most mornings, the baker also had special souls to whom he gave muffins for free. 

“This is for you,” he said, handing a homeless gent a muffin. 

“Thank you very much indeed, kind sir,” replied the impoverished man who lived on the corner of Drury Lane. As the sun peeked through the clouds, the baker hoped for a brighter day. 

“I look forward to your muffins each sunrise,” the homeless man said, taking a bite.

“Have a blessed day,” the baker told the smiling, but soaked man. The cat swished his tail and tickled the beggar’s nose, causing him to laugh out loud. 

Another crowd gathered on the street corner to taste the baker’s muffins. 

“Why, I’ve never tasted anything so delicious!” raved a young boy, hurrying to school. “The muffins aren’t even wet! They must be magical.”

“Can I try one, too?” inquired a young girl with an armful of wet schoolbooks, dripping from rain. He handed her a muffin with a smile.

Of course, one very special woman loved to make his acquaintance each morning, Miss Olivia Davies, the sweetest schoolteacher in Great Britain. 

As the Muffin Man greeted her at her flat, she had a new book in hand, the poems of Tennyson. He thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met. Her eyes were kind and calm. He couldn’t bring her enough muffins.

“You are more beautiful with every passing morning,” the baker said to her.

“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you . . . I could walk through my garden forever,” she read, as the baker smiled from ear to ear.

“I hope you’ll be my Muffin Woman,” he said. He handed her a bouquet of flowers from his basket and kissed her on the cheek.

“Only if you’ll be my Muffin Man,” she said. Then, she kissed him back on the cheek. 

“I’ve been challenged to a duel for your hand again,” the baker told Olivia with a grin. 

“What did you say to the fool?” Olivia asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I told him that I’d meet him any day of the week!” the baker said. 

“I don’t see that going well, honey,” Olivia warned. “Please tell him you’re not getting involved!”

“Yes, I know. If you’re free for dinner tonight, I’ll bring over a meat pie, and we can dance all night,” the baker suggested, doing a little tap dance on her front step. “My cat will be glad to join us!” 

Ragamuffin purred and rubbed his furry wet body against Olivia’s dry, flowered dress. She shook the cat hair off of her dress and laughed at him. 

“I’ll make plum and apple cobbler for dessert,” he promised, as she nodded with delight. 

“I’ll expect you by six o’clock sharp,” she agreed. “I’ll start a fire in the sitting room.”

As the baker left Olivia’s flat, the man who challenged him to a duel appeared dressed in medieval armor. At the sight of his fierce competitor, the Muffin Man felt tense all over his body. His knees wobbled, and he felt short of breath. He had no idea how to handle such a volatile person. Since the blacksmith wore armor most days, it was hard to see his face.

“Fight me to the death for the hand of Olivia Davies, sir,” the blacksmith’s booming voice threatened.

“Olivia wants nothing of the sort!” the baker responded.

“She gives me no choice!” the armored man announced, drawing his sword in the air.

“I have no sword! I only have muffins,” the baker said, as he handed the blacksmith a muffin. “I do not want to fight you!”

The blacksmith took the muffin and studied it. Then, he took a bite.

The Muffin Man watched as the blacksmith’s face changed from disgust into pure delight. It was as if the baker had tamed a beast.

“This is delicious,” the blacksmith said. “I lose. Olivia is yours, and I’m considering letting you live.”

“The gods have seen in my favor,” the baker declared to Ragamuffin. “After all, I am The Muffin Man.” His cat purred at his side in relief. 

“Yes, you are The Muffin Man,” the blacksmith said. “This is the deal: If you bring me a muffin every day, I’ll spare your life and call it peace. If you forget to bring me a muffin, your life is finished.”

“We have a deal. Now, sometimes kindness wins more battles than a sword,” The Muffin Man said in victory, as Ragamuffin purred beside him.

After returning to his bakery, The Muffin Man hurried inside and shut the door. He was grateful that the blacksmith had disappeared around the corner.

Beaming with pride, he hung a brand-new sign outside his shop that said THE MUFFIN MAN, so everyone in the neighborhood could clearly see his bakery name. 

That evening, Olivia and The Muffin Man enjoyed dinner by the fire, and The Muffin Man was home early enough to start his new batch of English muffins for morning delivery, just like every other morning. 

 

Do you know The Muffin Man? 

The Muffin Man, The Muffin Man. 

Do you know The Muffin Man, 

Who lives on Drury Lane?

 

Yes, I know The Muffin Man, 

The Muffin Man, The Muffin Man. 

Yes, I know The Muffin Man, 

Who lives on Drury Lane.

 

Copyright 2022, 2026 Jennifer Waters

The Twelve Days of Christmas: A Christmas Folktale from Scotland

Once upon a time, a partridge in a pear tree lived in a castle on the far side of Edinburgh with two turtle doves, three French hens, four calling birds, five golden rings, six geese a-laying, seven swans a-swimming, eight maids a-milking, nine ladies dancing, ten lords a-leaping, eleven pipers piping, and twelve drummers drumming. 

A long time ago in a Christmas Eve winter snowstorm, the partridge had been delivered to the doorstep of the magical castle in Edinburgh as gifts to the Scottish people by Father Christmas. The castle was owned by Father Christmas and used as one of his many second homes when travelling throughout the world. He wished that the Scottish people would have lasting love through the dark winter season. 

As long as the enchanted troupe lived in the castle, the partridge was under strict orders from Father Christmas to organize the troop every year to spread true love from December 25^th through January 6^th.  If the presents didn’t do their job, Father Christmas said he would disband them.

Thanks to the chirping of the partridge, many of the locals had caught word of the assignment that Father Christmas had given them and showed up on their doorstep every time they had a romantic dilemma. 

The majority of the year the partridge and the other gifts would receive and organize letters from the Scottish people in search of eternal love and solutions during the Christmas season. The yuletide emissaries themselves had become a symbol of romance and love. They had received abundant requests to travel all over Scotland as gifts, to bring hope to waning romances and doubting hearts. The partridge did everything she could to help the people have a profound realization about true love by January 6^th, which was also known as Epiphany. 

However, after many years of attempting to orchestrate great love stories, the gifts had given up, or rather, the Scots had given up on the twelve gifts and stopped writing them for help. With many failed attempts to bring everlasting love at Christmas, the partridge knew that Father Christmas had also lost faith in them. If they soon didn’t have more successes, the partridge feared he would split them up and send them off to different owners as gifts. 

Then, the partridge would miss the beautiful castle and all her friends in Edinburgh. She loved sitting by its fireplace that told magical stories with its embers. She would miss it so much if she had to leave. She looked up at its soaring ceilings with enchanted icicles and floors with polished ice that never melted. The gingerbread staircases with candy cane railings were lovely.

“Do you think that we can really bring true love?” asked the partridge to her other castle companions. She nibbled on a sweet pear in her tree. “The last several times we tried; it didn’t go very well, and all of Scotland knows it.” 

Despite her doubts, she opened a recent piece of mail that sat on the dining room table. As she read it, she hoped that she and her friends could pull it together and show everyone that they could still be the twelve gifts of pure love at Christmas. 

“This letter sounds desperate,” she told the group of gifts, as they sat around the long table in the castle. 

 

To Whom It May Concern, 

I’m desperate to find true love. I am lonely and have no family. I’ve heard that Father Christmas gave you to the Scots to bring us love at Christmas. If you could please lend me your magic powers and help me find true love this year, I would be ever so grateful. I have a certain lady in mind named Isla Campbell. I once met her at a Hogmanay celebration, and I never forgot her. Please help me win her over. I still believe in true love and hope you do as well. Thank you very much indeed. 

Yours truly, Brodie Brown

 

As the partridge passed the letter around the table for the gifts to read, the drafty room fell silent. The gifts nodded their heads and shrugged their shoulders. The partridge felt a bit nervous. She realized that the person who wrote the letter really believed that the gifts had the answers to his love life. She knew the troop would need a lot of preparation.

A few of the previous disasters stood out in the partridge’s mind, like the time the two turtle doves tried to have two people kiss by picking them up and flying them toward each other, but they knocked heads and got concussions. Another instance is when the eight maids a-milking made a romantic dinner for a couple, to find out later that the milk was sour, and the people got food poisoning. Even worse, the ten lords a-leaping taught a dance class, but the fiancée of a wealthy landowner broke her ankle. The partridge knew it could only get better.

“We are very much in love,” two turtle doves said to each other with coos. They stroked their feathers. “Maybe we can help this young man after all.”

“Oui, oui,” sang the three French hens. “If lovers listen to us, our accents can make them think of the romance of Paris!”

“I certainly hope so,” the partridge said. “I know you are trying to convince all of us that we can succeed this time.”

“We sing love songs,” the four calling birds said and hummed a tune. “It makes anyone fall in love if they have any musical sense.”

“Our golden rings make real gentlemen think of proposing at Christmas,” the five golden rings said, as they clanked against each other. “We fit so easily on empty fingers.”

“Well, at least if we had one big success this year, then Father Christmas might be proud of us, and let us continue to live in the castle,” the partridge said, as she admired a life-sized floating snow globe across the room with a Christmas scene in it. “I love this place!” 

“We have magic in our eggs, and they give you the heart of a child,” the six geese-a-laying said. They squawked and rolled golden eggs from under their wings. 

“When we put our necks together, we make hearts,” the seven swans-a-swimming said. They swooned with admiration. “We only ever have one mate for life! Humans are so shallow sometimes.”

“We bake the most delicious cakes with our milk,” explained the eight maids-a-milking. They flipped through their cookbooks. Each maid wore a patterned apron and a plain dress. “I don’t think couples eat proper dinners with desserts together anymore. Sigh.” 

“Dancing is the most romantic thing that couples can do together,” said the nine ladies dancing. They kicked their knees up high. 

“Leap for joy at the thought of true love!” exclaimed the ten lords-a-leaping. 

“Celebrate the love that can be found at Christmas!” said the eleven pipers piping with delight. The traditional Scottish pipe band played their bagpipes in unison. 

“True love marches to its own beat!” quipped the twelve drummers drumming. 

“Well, maybe we should try again,” the partridge suggested. “I could respond to this kind sir and say that we would be willing to help him. He seems to be stuck on romantic suggestions to win over his lady friend. Everything up until this point must have been practice for us. We are all much wiser now. We have to be able to bring him true love this time!”

“We’ve been stuffed in this castle alone for too long,” agreed the two turtle doves. “We don’t have much to do this year at Christmas anyhow!” 

“The world has stopped calling on us to bring true love with Christmas magic,” the three French hens said. “This man is willing to give us another try. We should take him up on it.”

“Then, we will plan to spend Christmas with Brodie Brown,” the partridge said. 

The bird knew that it would take a lot of strategizing, but she could not imagine a grander idea at the holidays. Father Christmas believed that the twelve gifts had a special magic, so the partridge thought he must somehow be right. She looked at the wall of magically synchronized ticking clocks in the castle that counted down the minutes until Christmas Eve. 

 

On the eve of Christmas Eve, the partridge and the gifts travelled by train from Edinburgh to the home of Brodie in Inverness in the Highlands with its rolling hills and deep valleys. They arrived at Brodie’s door ready for action. 

“Merry Christmas! We’re here early ready for Christmas morning, and we aren’t leaving until you have an epiphany on the 6th,” the partridge said. As the bird knocked on the door, her pear tree sat beside her. Then, the door swung open, and Brodie stared at the gifts with shock. “Show us where to set up! We have lots to do!” she said. 

“I thought you wouldn’t be arriving until Christmas morning!” Brodie said. “The place is a mess. Can you help me tidy up a bit? I want to propose to Isla on Christmas day. I’ve asked her to come for brunch at my home.”

“We are at your service,” the partridge said. The gifts filed into his home one at a time. The partridge had never been so excited and had a good feeling in her belly.

 

When Brodie’s special someone, Isla, arrived at ten o’clock on Christmas morning, the gifts presented themselves one at a time as a symbol of true love. The partridge thought this was the best plan for success. 

“Gift one: Please be the partridge in my tree, Isla,” Brodie said. “Gift two: we are like these two doves. Gift three: the hens symbolize our faith, hope, and love.”

“All this for me?” Isla said with a smile. “You have gone to quite some trouble!”

The partridge thought Brodie was certainly off to a good start.

“Four calling birds for always speaking love to each other,” Brodie said. “Five golden rings for commitment.”

“Brodie, you have gone out of your way!” Isla said. “I just thought we were having a brunch.”

The partridge looked at the brunch on the stove in the kitchen and hoped it wasn’t getting cold, but the food was not the point of this special Christmas morning. 

“Gift six: geese a-laying for whatever we might dream up together!” Brodie said to Isla. “Gift seven: swans a-swimming to match your grace and elegance. Gift eight: maids a-milking for nurture and care.”

“Are there more gifts?” Isla asked. “Where did you find all this extravagance?”

Mishaps and mistakes had gone by the wayside so far, but the partridge knew the gifts were still not in the clear.

“Nine ladies dancing for joy and fun!” Brodie said. “Ten lords a-leaping for devotion and gallantry! Eleven pipers piping for the music we will make together! Twelve drummers drumming for how our hearts will beat together!”

After the twelve drummers drummed, Brodie got down on one knee. 

“Will you marry me?” Brodie asked Isla. Silence filled the room with anticipation.

The partridge could hardly believe her eyes that the presentation had gone so well. 

“I’ll think about it, Brodie,” she said. “This is all such a surprise. I’m just not sure that true love exists. I’ve had such bad heartbreak in the past.”

The partridge sighed with a touch of despair, and Brodie seemed disappointed, but at least she didn’t say “no.”

“Please don’t leave until Epiphany,” Brodie said. “You can give me your answer then. We could spend the Twelve Days of Christmas together.”

“Yes, dear, I just need some time to think a bit,” Isla said, as she touched his hand. 

Then, the gifts got down to work. The partridge hid love notes for Brodie and Isla underneath their pillows at night. In the morning, the calling birds woke the couple with songs and chirps. The geese delivered breakfast in bed with omelets from their own eggs. 

During the day, the turtle doves wrote romantic poetry for them. The gold rings insisted they must be worn. Then, the French hens baked romantic meals like coq au vin and crème brûlée. After dinner, the swans took the couple ice-skating on a frozen Scottish loch. The maids made hot chocolate and ice cream for dessert each night. 

The ladies taught the couple how to waltz, while the lords insisted on knightly gestures and deep conversation. At night, the pipers and drummers played their bagpipes and drums under the stars. The gifts made up original songs about Brodie’s romance with Isla. 

            On the final night, Brodie left Isla a handwritten note on her pillow that told her how much he had always admired her. 

            

            My Dearest Isla,

            These past twelve days with you have been pure joy. 

            Please say you will be mine. 

            I want to spend a lifetime with you. 

            Your love, 

            Brodie.

 

In short, the gifts wooed the couple for twelve days until it became clear that Isla had made her decision. The partridge thought it was like a lightbulb went off in her head by Epiphany. Just like the holiday, she had a spiritual awakening and clarity. 

“I will marry you!” Isla said. “I love you! I’ve never had twelve days like this in my life.”

The partridge cried tears of joy with Brodie and Isla. The gifts cheered in celebration. Within hours, the partridge was sure that the rest of the village would know of their success and mail would start pouring into the castle again. 

When she looked out the window, she caught a glimpse of Father Christmas in his sleigh with his reindeer. He chuckled and flew off into the sky. 

As time went on, the enchanted troupe became so famous that Father Christmas wrote a song called “The Twelve Days of Christmas” about their romantic efforts. The partridge and the gifts found ongoing success with their adventures, and everyone in the world wanted true love at Christmas.

 

Copyright 2022, 2025 Jennifer Waters

"Mr. Santa's Song," A MERRY CHRISTMAS CAROL

VERSE:

Jesus, can we please have snow for Christmas?

If I had just one wish, if I had just one prayer,

It would be for white flakes to float through the air.

It’s just not the same without a storm,

Rudolph doesn’t think that it’s the norm.

Jesus, can we please have snow for Christmas?

 

VERSE:

Jesus, can we see your star for Christmas?

If I had one more wish, if I had one more prayer,

It would be for your light to shine everywhere.

It keeps me on course on Christmas Eve,

It helps my weary elves believe.

Jesus, can we see your star for Christmas?

 

CHORUS:

And while we’re at it, I might need to shrink a pound.

I’ve been a bit too jolly, and my belly’s growing round.

I can’t fit down the chimney, and the children need their toys.

Please hear my request; I love all the girls and boys.

 

VERSE:

Jesus, can we join your choir for Christmas?

If you’re not keeping count, I’ve got another prayer.

It would be for your band to spread lots of cheer.

The angels and saints in one accord

With trumpets, harps, and praise for the Lord!

Jesus, can we join your choir for Christmas?

 

CHORUS:

And while we’re at it, how I need to shrink a pound.

I’ve been a bit too jolly, and my belly’s growing round.

I can’t fit down the chimney, and the children need their toys.

Please hear my request; I love all the girls and boys.

 

BRIDGE:

And could you please make up for what I lack?

I can’t meet every need with the gifts inside my sack.

I’ve made up my list, and I’ve checked it twice,

But some presents I can’t give even if the kids are nice, oh, oh, oh.

VERSE:                  

Jesus, can our hearts have peace for Christmas?

If your ear could extend, I’ve got a final prayer. 

It would be for your hand to dry each last tear.

I’m doing my best beneath the trees.

I hope the world bends down on both knees.

Jesus, can our hearts have peace for Christmas? 

TAG:

Jesus, can our hearts have peace for Christmas? 

Copyright 2022, 2024 Jennifer Waters

"Santa Moved the Spoons," A MERRY CHRISTMAS CAROL

VERSE:

I spent all day baking cookies

For Santa and his merry elves.

Then I folded a napkin with two spoons and a knife.

I’d never been so excited in all my life,

And when I woke up in the morning,

The Christmas tree was overflowing and . . .

 

CHORUS:

Santa moved the spoons.

He ate each and every crumb.

Momma said she gave the gifts,

But Daddy I’m not dumb.

It was Mr. Claus, and I know this because,

I heard Rudolph on the roof,

And Santa moved the spoons.

 

VERSE:

It’s not like the Easter Bunny.

Can’t compare to a Leprechaun. 

I waited and watched for a clue that they were there,

All I found was Momma’s brown hair.

Now when I look at Grandma’s silver,

I have tingles, chills, and shivers ‘cause . . . 

 

CHORUS:

Santa moved the spoons.

He ate each and every crumb.

Momma said she gave the gifts,

But Daddy I’m not dumb.

It was Mr. Claus, and I know this because,

I heard Rudolph on the roof,

And Santa moved the spoons.

 

BRIDGE:

If Momma and Daddy still don’t believe,

Can I test for fingerprints, please?

Santa’s hands were everywhere

From the fireplace to the rocking chair, oh . . .

 

CHORUS:

Santa moved the spoons.

He ate each and every crumb.

Momma said she gave the gifts,

But Daddy I’m not dumb.

It was Mr. Claus, and I know this because,

I heard Rudolph on the roof,

And Santa moved the spoons.

 

TAG:

I heard Rudolph on the roof, 

And Santa moved the spoons.

Yes, Santa moved the spoons!

 

Copyright 2022 Jennifer Waters