We wait for saint Nick. With an empty tree. He flies through the sky trying not to be seen.
He sneaks on roof tops. He goes through chimneys with ease. Nick stares at the tree then smiles. The jolly saint reached into his bag and pulled out a small present.
Not a single gift under the tree. The saint slid the present under the tree. He shouldered his bright red bag.
He flew up the chimney like a bullet. The saint would rocket the the sky at the speed of light. Nick smiled and waved and whispered.
Merry Christmas, to all a good night. And with that he took off without a word.