Mother Christmas on St Nicholas' Day

Many years ago, when I was visiting London in early December, I stumbled upon a box of Christmas cards which were sold on behalf of charity purpose. The text was a poem called 'Where art thou, Mother Christmas?' by Roald Dahl, and that year, I sent these cards to a lot of my friends.

And almost every year, when I'm busy trying to get all things planned and done (and bought and cooked and crafted and wrapped and decorated and written ...) in time for the feast, I have that poem in the back of my head, just pondering over the fact that tradition show only men bringing the presents, while reality demands most entirely female efforts ...

Nevertheless, here's the text!

Where art thou, Mother Christmas?
I really wish I knew
Why Father should get all the praise
And no one mentions you.

I'll bet you buy the presents
And wrap them large and small,
Then in the end our cunning friend
Pretends he's done it all.

So hail to Mother Christmas,
The uncomplaining slave,
And down with Father Christmas,
That good-for-nothing knave.

(Roald Dahl)