There once was a writer named Elf,
Who wanted to see all his books up on the shelf.
In bookstores and in homes
He wanted his stories to roam.
So he hid them among Santa’s present wealth.
There once was a writer named Elf,
Who wanted to see all his books up on the shelf.
In bookstores and in homes
He wanted his stories to roam.
So he hid them among Santa’s present wealth.
Filed under 2020, Monday morning writing joke, Poetry by David E. Booker
Tagged as books, elf, joke, limerick, Monday, Santa, writing humor