Classic Poem

(Concerning Heaven)

Well, Heaven's hard to understand —
But it's a kind of great, big land
All full of gold and glory;
With rivers green and pink and red,
And houses made of gingerbread
Like in the fairy story.

The floors they use are made of clouds;
And there are crowds and crowds and crowds
Who sing and dance till seven.
But then they must keep still because
God and the Dream-Man and Santa Claus
Sleep in the big House of Heaven.

God, He sleeps on the first two floors;
And the Dream-Man sleeps above Him and snores,
A tired-out story-teller;
And Santa Claus, who hates the noise,
He sleeps on the roof with all of his toys —
And the angels live in the cellar.

Now, the angels never sleep a wink,
They're much too busy to stop and think
Or play on harps and guitars.
They're always cleaning the sun at night,
And all day long, to keep them bright,
They polish the moon and the stars.

They clean the streets and they tidy the rooms,
And they sweep out Heaven with a million brooms,
And they hurry each other when they nod,
And they work so fast that they almost fall —
But God just sits and never works at all;
And that's because He's God!