Collab Cage Mini-Monthly December -- Secret Santa Hooves

by The Collab Cage


Fleur de Lis -- Receives From -- Pipsqueak

Written by: Calligraphy


It was midnight, the clock chiming on its lonesome downstairs.
It echoed in the dining room, taking turns in mahogany chairs.
It echoed in the living room, dancing in pairs.

Alone it echoed, searching ‘round for company.
A quiet murmur, a distant pleasantry.
Upstairs, I hear none of this, I guarantee.

For you see, I am asleep.
On Hearth’s Warming Eve, I make not a peep.
I’ve buried myself in a blanket heap.

For you see, I am asleep.

While below me a shadow darts,
hiding in darkness from the start.
In cleverness, this shadow doth take part.

While I toss and turn far above,
all he cares for is his mission of love.
He darts to the tree, or lack thereof.

A disappointed sigh escapes him,
his mental conscious berates him,
and as he stands pondering, he has a sudden whim.

His eyes flick to the side and back,
and off he goes again, shadow black.
He tiptoes towards the stairs when suddenly: Clack.

He flinches and hides, eyes peering ‘round.
His breathing quickens and his heart starts to pound,
mouth closed tight, not making a sound.

It’s there that he has a sudden realization.
Something had fallen, caused him needless complication.
He sets off again, wary of further confrontation.

He sets hoof to the first of the stairs with a creak,
cringing as it lets out a feeble squeak.
With so much noise, his mission looks bleak.

Up above, snug in my bed,
I let out a sigh with a turn of my head,
hanging on to slumber by a thin thread.

Ascending the stairs, he comes.
Sneaking through shadows, he comes.
Tiptoeing around, he comes.

He enters my room, carefully.
He crosses the floor, quietly.
He stands at my bedside, silently.

A smile crosses his pale white face.
Evil intentions leave not a trace,
especially since they aren’t the case.

He bends down and digs in his tote,
retrieving a package complete with a note.
He drops it onto the the nightstand close.

‘Dear Fleur, Happy Hearth’s Warming!
May happiness these holidays bring.
From Pipsqueak, Hearth’s Warming’s king.’

He tiptoes away, disappeares from sight.
Into the shadows of a cold winter’s night.
Off he flees, his laughter bright.

The next morning, when I awake,
I glance sideways to gulp and choke.
Nearly having a premature stroke.

Wrapped in red paper,
addressed to one ‘Fleur’.
Who, might I add, is me.

I unfold the signed slip,
My lips slope downward into a dip,
As I smile from the happiness, from Pip.

Pip, the stallion.
Pip, the giver.
Pip, the Santa Hooves...

A traditional holiday fling,
I’ve known not of this thing,
‘The Santa Hooves Exchange’


Every year I’ve hidden away,
waiting ‘til the following of Hearth’s Warming Day,
in my shadowed house I lay.

I’ve never cared for this tradition
A frivolous thing of repetition.
A time for needless acquisition.

And yet I have never given,
kept to myself when the snow has driven,
longing for the solitude for which I’ve striven.

And this simple gift,
this present from Pip,
it changed my thoughts...

and I’m not the slightest bit miffed.