Echoes of yesterday
Where do they end?
Upon the elf on the shelf

Santa has passed
Forsaken my abode
The inner being of my soul

He is the sole provider
My decider
Triumphant tyrant of woe

Must he be my foe?
Glowing with reassurance
Of the personification of hate

I'm a good boy
How about a treat?
It has to be just for me

To eat
Forcibly scarf down
My bitter hole

Santa will want
Me to rake
His' yard

But I will refuse
The suddenly offered abuse
From a passing sore of lore