Just as morn was fading amid her misty rings,
And every stocking was stuffed with childhood's precious things,
Old Kris Kringle looked round and saw on the elm tree bough
High hung, an oriole's nest, lonely and empty now.
"Quite like a stocking," he laughed, "hung up there in the tree,
I didn't suppose the birds expected a visit from me."
Then old Kris Kringle who loves a joke as well as the best,
Dropped a handful of snowflakes into the oriole's empty nest.
--_Anon._