In the times of old, deep below,
rest a merry little place,
where gold would glimmer and ale would flow,
at a steady, dwarven pace.
The Dwarfs in town would live in peace,
with beards as white as snow,
and all around stood evergreen trees,
dressed in lights, row upon row.
With a jolly yawn, rose from his bed,
a dwarf by the name of Claus.
A peculiar sight, all clad in red,
kind to both dwarf and to mouse.
He’d dig and dig, from morn to night,
make tunnels large and grand,
for he wished to spread, the wonderous sight,
of the merry, white-bearded land.
One day his axe went through the wall,
and his eyes were filled with wonder.
Before him lay no cave nor hall,
but a landscape like nothing back under.
A curious reindeer would let him ride,
through what he later learned was “snow”.
Seven more reindeer would join his side,
and the rest of the story, we already know:
The story of Santa Claus, the red-clad Dwarf