Oh how I wish that I were
  Santa trimmed in white fur;
  So I could bring you every toy     
  That would thrill a precious boy.  
  But another has that name          
  And I cannot steal his fame!       

	Oh how I wish that I were
	A Christmas tree of pine or fir,
	So you would play round me in delight
	And find joy in my tinsel bright.
        But I'm your aunt and not a tree
        You do not beam when you see me.

  Oh how I wish that I were
  A gift that would make you purr.
  And you would hold me in your hand,    
  I, cherished by a darling little man.  
  But all my wishes are far above        
  And I can only send you deepest love.  

	But, Bill, if Santa I had been
	I'd fly to my youngest kin
	And fill your stocking with kisses
	And make your packages of bilisses,
	But little boys want other things,
	The kind that Santa brings.

Keth Dickson
Shreveport, Louisiana
December 1946