He does not always do as he is told,
He is bold,
It is true,
He does what us parents tell him to do.
Supposedly Elf sneaks around at night,
I admit I’ve seen him hanging off the front door light,
Looking for trouble,
To rumble,
To brawl,
Hanging from the bottle,
Graffiti on the wall.
The kids think he is funny,
Hanging about,
Reporting to Santa,
If they scream or they shout.
But under that slim and slender façade,
Elf still drinks my wine,
He still straddles the bar.
Elf does manage to tone it down,
Come sunrise,
To no surprise.
Innocent and friendly is what Elf would have you believe,
Tiny children are easy to deceive.
However I wonder,
Behind all the lies,
If Elf is just a guy,
That loves drinking my wines.
I’m sure all the parents,
Around the world,
Would happily agree,
With this tipsy girl,
That by the end of a long summer working day,
The imagination is lacking new Elf places to play.
Fancy pants parents far better than I,
Are whipping out paint sets or baking creampie.
In my house, we are just trying to fit it all in,
Maybe move Elf somewhere that isn’t the bin.
Perhaps give him a shelf,
A hanger,
A place he’ll feel fine.
All that I ask,
Is that he buys his own wine.
FlyInMyWine 