Tomte

Doesn’t like ingratitude
Hates niggardly people
He wants to play dirty tricks on them
To harm them as he can

They get an ear punch
Mud right in their faces
Straw into their eyes
Blood out of greedy heads

He chokes their horses
Their cows also die
Why – he would never tell them
Tomte would never talk to them

Once upon a time there was a village
Quietly stood under lamb-like clouds
In one of houses there lived a tomte
Under roof, under roof

He wasn’t afraid to work
Until he once hasn’t got
His promised fee –
His oatmeal porridge…