Happy Holidays From
The Citizens For Ponce Inlet


It was global warming at its worst;
The permafrost was ready to burst.
And with ice melting at the North Pole,
Santa’s workshop fell into a hole.

What else was there for Santa to do?
He had no recourse, no one to sue.
He had to get while the getting was good;
That he had to leave is understood.

Since he’s been ‘round this world many times,
And knows it by heart with all its climes,
What do you think he’s chosen to do?
Where do you think he’s moved his elves to?

Having had it with the cold and snow,
He wanted a place where it’s warm, you know.
A place without much isolation;
A place where he’d feel on vacation.

So, he’s moved down by Ponce Inlet’s beach
Whose hard white sands are in easy reach
For sleigh riding where racing was born;
His red suit, for shorts, forever shorn.

Shedding parkas and long underwear,
Santa now works showing skin that’s bare.
Busy all day with toys on the make,
He then rests at dusk, watching waves break.