Dear Saint Nicholas

Dear Saint Nicholas,

I ask not for crowns, not for fame,

But a diapered elephant to play my game.

A tablet, a phone, Oukitel by name,

And a roomy carry-on to fuel my flame.

Some folks delight in lies and in theft,

In mocking, in hurting, in taking what’s left.

But I, dear Saint, have higher quests,

Little joys that beat their petty tests.

A curly hairdo like a lamb I desire,

Small, simple dreams that lift me higher.

Why frown at my roots, at my mom from Crimea?

Why worship false heroes in some false idea?

They trade lands for pennies, sell souls for a snack,

But I pack my bag and never look back.

Let the traitors stew, let the liars play,

I’ll laugh and live in my own bright way.

So, Saint Nick, grant me these small delights,

And a shield of humor for the darkest nights.

For gifts are sweet, but laughter is free,

And that’s the real magic I hope you’ll give me.