EPTAt the North Pole each Christmas, the night they will fly,
The reindeer all argue and bicker - and why?
No, not for the honour of leading the way,
Or over who's munched all the best bits of hay,
They each want to pull at the rear of the pack,
In front of the sleigh and the man with the sack,
And flying along at a furious pace,
Taking aim with great care, try to poo in his face.
"It's my turn," said Vixen, "You said so last year!"
"Not likely," said Dash with a flick of his ear.
"It's got to be me," Cupid cried with a bound,
"Yeah right," snorted Comet, "You can't hit the ground."
"I got him twice," Prancer smirked, "So beat that!"
"That's nothing," sniffed Dancer, "I knocked off his hat."
"I wish," Blitzen moaned, "You'd let me have a go."
"You'd suffocate him," explained Donner, "So no."
Then suddenly up piped a different voice,
"I think you will find I'm the logical choice!"
"I am always up front! It's just got to be me!"
"You've all had a turn - except Blitzen - you see."
They looked at each other, at Rudolph, and sighed
"I suppose," muttered Dasher, "That can't be denied."
"Hurray!" shouted Rudolph, then stopped with a squawk,
As Santa walked in, with a smile, and a cork.
5/5 for the cork
