The Wind in My Hair

Tomorrow is Christmas,
There’s a coldness in the air,
The air is very chilly,
The trees are very bare.

In my bed, with the snow falling down,
I catch a movement on my window.
There’s still silence in the town. It’s Christmas, I remember,
And I tiptoe downstairs, keeping the sound low.

I hide behind the big clock,
And I hear a low scratching sound very near.
Santa comes out of the fireplace, and just as I fear,
He sees me, yes, and says, “Hello, dear.”

He puts down his presents
And to my delight
Invites me to ride
On his reindeer tonight.

The reindeer prance up into the sky,
And behind me billows my hair.
Santa drops presents down every chimney,
As we glide through the cold air.

As we go toward my house, Santa smiles at me.
“Visit me next time, my dear.”
It is getting close, so I hope he’ll be there,
Once again, I want to feel the wind in my hair.