Poems For Christmas Eve For Kids

It's Christmas, you know,

Fiametta--

At least it's the night just before.

Father Christmas is due,

Let me whisper to you.

He doesn't come in at the door.

He doesn't come in at the window;

His ways a more wonderful way;

Over house-tops he glides,

Down the chimneys he slides,

And he's due, Fiametta, to-day!

Suppose he should mix up the stockings!

They're both the same colour and size;

It's really too bad,

It would be too sad

If I'd a wax doll with blue eyes.

If I go to sleep, Fiametta,

And you keep your eyes open wide,

You can just take a peep,

While I'm lying asleep,

To see what he's putting inside.

Oh, do keep awake, Fiametta!

My eyes are as heavy as lead,

And if he should come

With a doll or a drum

Just ask him for soilders instead.

Lillian Holmes

Tomorrow morn she'll wake to see

The trinkets on her Christmas tree,

And find beside her little bed,

Where tenderly and soft of tread

Old Santa Clause has walked to leave

The toys that she might still believe.

Her stocking by the chimney place

Gives to the room a touch of grace

More beautiful than works of art

And velvet draperies can impart.

Here is a symbol of a trust

Richer than wisdom thick with dust.

I see it through the half swung door,

And smile to think long years before

I, too, on Christmas Eve was young

And eagerly a stocking hung

Beside the chimney just as she,

Ere knowledge stole my faith from me.

Upstairs about her bed there seems

The peace of childhood's lovely dreams,

And I, grown old, almost forget

The truths with which I am beset.

Upon this blessed Christmas Eve

I, too, in Santa Claus believe.

Edgar A. Guest

But how can his reindeer fly without wings?

Jets on their hooves? That's plain cheating!

And how can he climb down the chimney pot

When we've got central heating?

You say it's all magic and I shouldn't ask

About Santa on Christmas Eve.

But I'm confused bt the stories I've heard;

I don't know what to believe.

I said that I'd sit up in bed all night long

To see if he really would call.

But I fell fast asleep, woke up after dawn

As something banged in the hall.

I saw my sock cramed with apples and sweets;

There were parcels piled high near the door.

Jingle bells tinkled far off in the dark;

One snowflake shown on the floor.

                                  Wes Magee (1939 - )