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Santa Isn't Real
Yesterday I saw Santa skiing the bright, white slopes.
Soaring past me, raising my hopes.
For if Santa can shred the hills of snow then surely I can, too.
So I hopped onto the chairlift and peered up at the great wide blue.
The chairlift inched higher and higher until it reached the top.
My whole body jerked as it finally stopped.
The snow crunched as I stepped on down.
But I approached the hill and felt my smile melt into a frown.
There “Santa” stood with his red suit and belly big,
But he was really a fat old man, smoking a cig.
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