Thirty Seven Fit Santas Come a-Calling

I dreamed a dream

Late last night when the snow was lying deep and level on the ground, and I asleep under a mound of duvets, with the snow on the roof piling ever higher, something awoke me. Sitting up, to listen I could faintly discern the sound of tinkling bells, and peeping through the curtain saw an ethereal band of heavenly santas looking up at me expectantly as if they had some business here.

I went down stairs and opened up my door, and Lo! they began to sing an enchanted melody with heavenly harmonies.

Through the snowy skies they descended, more on more, rank upon rank of fit santas to fill my garden with cherubic music.

Sensing somehow that they were not finished with me, that they wanted more, I beckoned their leader and they followed me inside to find hearty dishes full of pies and goblets of mulled wine.

As if they had never seen these substances before in their career, the Santas tucked in as one, and were soon clamouring for more. They crowded into the kitchen where a wicked potion was heating on the stove and emptied the cauldron. Elf Jim, ladling with his big spoon had no time to even see the Santas’ faces, so thick and fast came their requests for this brew.


Suddenly, as quickly as they had arrived, they were gone, the only signs of their Christmas passing being a faint trail of crumbs and their celestial studmarks on the carpet

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