Old Santa Claus sat alone in his den,
With his leg crossed over his knee;
While a comical look peeped out of his eyes,
For a funny old fellow was he.
His queer little cap was tumbled and torn,
And his wig it was all awry;
But he sat and mused the whole day long,
While the hours went flying by.
He had been as busy as busy could be,
In filling his pack with toys;