MIA

This is a whodunit story in the first degree,
Missing in action, what mystery.
Santa has helpers, called little elves,
Manufacturing toys, on plethora of shelves,
For all good children all over the land,
Santa was thankful for the helping hand.
Now one particular elf if I recall,
T’was most insolent of all.
Lounged in Santa’s special chair,
He'd state, "Well it's comfy there.
I feel like a royal king,
In that huge overstuffed thing”.
Story goes that one day that glistened,
A certain little elf had just gone a missin'.
His hat and shoes strewn in Santa's chair,
Everyone shocked to see them just lying there.
Santa released the basset hound,
To see if he could be found.
But sadly, no trace of him,
Hope abandon as twilight grew dim.
Rumors floated, of bloody demise,
Gossip came as no surprise.
Stunned by act of violence,
Santa asked for a moment of silence.
Some swore, they still heard Elfie’s voice,
As Santa sat in his chair of choice,
Santa being rather a jolly ole lout,
Couldn't seem to figure out,
Why his signature red suit,
Muttered. “Fat brute”.
Defeated Santa stood to go,
But wait Santa! There’s something you should know!
Pointing, with a collective gasp, and abject stare,
Santa wondered why elves gaped at his derriere.
Turning in a mirror he looked back,
Spied cheeky elf, in his butt crack.