Pity poor Bassic, he says,
"Oh pity me!
I do not know for whom
I am a Santee!"

From his Santa,
Jokes do not fly
But from his scarce hints
Oh, what shall I?

But no, a Santa
He does not lack,
His Santa shall get him
A paper sack!

Tune books, perhaps
From a used shop nook
Here's a good one,
"The Jewish Fake Book."

It could be food
From another land
Designed to cause his
Waistband expand!

Ah, a kazoo,
Or shirt from a zoo
A toy that goes moo
A bucket of goo!

A purple backpack
A blue spice rack
Or tacky tie tack
You can't take back

So sweet Bassic
Do not fear
Despite your worry
Your Santa is here.

Your Santa was poor
At timing their post
To be some other time
Than their other notes.

But if you'd not have
Some tacky gift here
More hints please
All in good cheer

Your Santa will choose
Your gift with great care
Even if they do not
Yet know where!