Poetry Archives

Just as the moon was fading
  Amid her misty rings,
And every stocking was stuffed
  With childhood’s precious things,

Old Kriss Kringle looked around,
  And saw on the elm-tree bough,
High hung, an oriole’s nest,
  Lonely and empty now.

“Quite a stocking,” he laughed,
  “Hung up there on a tree!
I didn’t suppose the birds
  Expected a present from me!”

Then old Kriss Kringle, who loves
  A joke as well as the best,
Dropped a handful of snowflakes
  Into the oriole’s empty nest.