It was the night before Christmas…

I was a young, little girl. Eleven to be exact.

The tree was aglow, and presents were all a’stacked.

My sister sat beside me, nestled so close,

Reading to me about Santa, as I started to doze.

When the book came to an end, she looked to me and said,

“Katie, I need to tell you something before you go to bed.”

“What is it, Mary Beth?” I asked with eyes full of zeal.

“Katie…dear Katie… well, Santa is not real.”

Out from kitchen, my mom cried with a tear,

“What have you done?

We could have had her another year!”

My tears were a’shed, much confusion was wrought.

“What did all this mean?” I sat pondering, deep in thought.

Sam once told me he saw Santa flying in the sky,

But when I came to see the reindeer, they had already flown by.

And if not Santa, than who? Who would have eaten all those treats?

Was it Dad? Was it Mom? Was believing in Santa now obsolete?

I refused to believe it, I tried to hear the bell,

I tried to hold on to that hope, but my eyes started to swell.

How could you all have lied? How could you all have sworn,

If it really wasn’t Santa on each Christmas morn?

I finally got over it, although it was a hard to forget

the year I learned the truth and was very upset.

Now ten years have passed, it feels just like yesterday,

But the Spirit of Christmas lives in my heart, and all of yours, I pray!