‘Twas the night before Christmas, the year, Twenty Twenty, Santa’s at home with T.P. a plenty.
For he had been saving roll upon roll, hiding from Corona, at the North Pole.
But now it was time, to fly ‘round the world, bringing presents and cheer to good boys and good girls.
He and the elves, they loaded the sleigh, socially distanced of course, the CDC way.
Donned with his mask, sanitizer, and spray, Chlorox and Lysol, they were soon on the way.
“On Dasher, on Pfizer, Moderna, and Vixen, Astra and Zeneca, Comet and Blitzen. Fly in the air, high in the sky, germs they can’t reach us, ride reindeer, ride!”
Santa, he schemed on safety and speed, he had toys to deliver but had to take heed.
“Safety first,” as he pulled out a wet wipe, “no germs on this chimney,” he smiled, as he swiped.
Once safe inside, his Lysol he sprayed, he wiped down the table, prepackaged cookies he ate.
The presents arranged on the floor by the tree, each sanitized and wrapped rather neat.
With a wink and a click, he was back on the sleigh, from house to house he entered that way.
But as he left presents, he took something too, toilet paper and wipes, for his personal use.
Twenty Twenty made Santa, a hoarder at best, stocked up on supplies, for his long winter rest.
So, after he finished, dropped off all the gifts, he packed up his T.P., and started to lift.
The reindeer they groaned, chugged harder than hard, but the loot he had stolen was heavy and large.
“We can’t lose a wipe or even a roll. Pull harder, you reindeer,” Santa did scold.
Slowly they lifted, Santa fatter than fat, straight up they pulled, when they all heard some splats!
T.P. and wipes, rained down on the world, Santa was crying, his plan now unfurled.
People below, many had tears, wipes and T.P. could quench all their fears.
Santa went home without all his loot, tears in his eyes, but a clean, Lysoled suit.
The year Twenty Twenty left Santa weary and worn, appropriately cautious, but broken and torn.
Socially distanced, masked up, sanitized. All the new lingo, he grew to despise.
But he let his fear, get in the way, we must do better, not make his mistake.
Yes, let’s be cautious, yes sanitize, but we cannot let fear cloud up our good eyes.
We must keep living, we must make a choice, for friendships and family, be a positive voice.
Not hiding in fear, but yet careful too, respecting each other, in all that we do.
As we end Twenty Twenty, let’s show it who’s boss, end it victoriously, not overrun with loss.
So Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night, may Twenty Twenty-One give Santa a whole different plight!