Your very own
Santa story

In a town by the sea, many ages ago,
Where the warm breezes drifted and fig trees would grow,
Lived a real man called Nicholas, gentle and wise,
With a smile on his face and bright stars in his eyes.

He helped families in need when their cupboards were bare,
He protected the children and kept them with care,
And he left little gifts in the hush of the night,
Then he tiptoed away before morning’s first light.

For he knew that a kindness is sweetest by far
When it asks for no thanks — like the light of a star.

When old Nicholas died, folk were sad through the land,
But then something quite wondrous began, close at hand:
In the towns and the villages, near and afar,
Little gifts started landing — a coin in a jar,

Some warm bread on the doorstep, a coat for the cold,
And small treats for the children, all shining like gold.
They came late in the night, and they came with no name,
When the hard times were hardest, the kindnesses came.

And the people would whisper, their faces aglow,
As they shared what they’d found in the moonlight and snow:

So the whisper flew on, and it never grew small —
It grew bigger and brighter, and reached one and all.

Then the centuries passed, like the snowflakes that fly,
And his story went travelling ’neath Europe’s wide sky.
Every winter, by firesides, the families would tell
Of the gifts with no giver, and hope’s quiet spell,

Of a light in the dark when the days were unkind,
And a feeling that Nicholas kept children in mind.
So his spirit became part of winter’s own glow,
Bringing comfort and joy, keeping watch through the snow.

Now, this wasn’t a fairy tale, dreamed up for fun —
It was felt, it was shared, and passed down one by one,
Told by firesides glowing through winters so wild,
From a grandma to mother, from mother to child.

As his spirit flew onward, o’er mountain and sea,
Every land that it reached was as glad as could be,
And they each gave it names in their own special way —
Here are some of the names that we still use today:

Then one wintery night, when the north wind blew free,
Nicholas’ spirit shone bright as could be.
It gathered the starlight, the frost and the snow,
And it took a new shape, with a warm, rosy glow.

There were boots black and shiny, a coat red as flame,
And a beard white as snow — and a jolly new name!
In a land at the top of the world, cold and far,
Where the Northern Lights dance under every bright star,

He made home at the Pole, with his elves and reindeer,
And they work there in secret the whole of the year.
Then on Christmas Eve, just as he did long ago,
He flies quietly down to the children below.

Down the chimney he comes, through the dark and the hush,
Fills the stockings with treats — then he’s off in a rush!
Never seen, never thanked, never asking for more…

Yes, the very same Nicholas, kind as before.