It was the night before Christmas when Santa Claus fell ill.
He was under a mountain of blankets, warding off chill.
Mrs. Claus took his temperature; ‘twas 102.
“Dear Nicholas,” she said, “Whatever should we do?”
With a cough and a hack, he beckoned an elf to his side.
That elf was Ginny, whose beauty and charm were bona fide.
Her long ginger hair flowed in tangles from beneath her cap.
Fit, young, perky: she was strictly kept from Santa’s lap.
