I peek into my little red stocking
And see a lonely lump of coal.
Surely, Santa didn’t give me this.He’s busy double-checking his lists;
The sleigh’s still in the shop. No, no――
I think I know these prints, theseBlack smudges soiling my sock.
See, Santa never leaves a trace;
Even when he dishes coal,He does so with a silent grace―
Not this appalling ruckus.
It appears I received this ugly stoneAs a going-away present――and yet
I had only arrived not long ago.
My holiday will not be happy;
Before long I may cease to believe
That reindeer know how to fly.