“Season's greetings, dear Santa!” I called loud and clear.
“You've agreed to an interview, at this busy time of year.
And my editor says you've just one condition-not finery or purse,
But only that we must talk solely in verse!”

“Quite true, quite true,” he nodded with a smile.
“For those of my day, this was our style.
For idle chitchat, prose may be fine.
But if you want life and energy, go with the rhyme!”

“Fair enough, fair enough, Santa my friend.
But what brings us together-we're here to what end?”
“To talk of miracles, all around us, my son.
Every day they shine brightly, but are noticed by none.

“Here all of us focus on miracles, you see.
Why, without miracles, where would I be?
Who would believe in a right jolly old elf?
I'd be like those fairy tales, put on the shelf.

“And then what of Christmas and joy and good cheer?
It creates such good feelings to end every year!
If for only a moment some put aside squabbles,
Stop cursing their neighbors and stirring up troubles.

“For at least one day, they set aside all that,
And smile when they hear of the Cat in the Hat
. And while many in awe recall star and stable,
Others most look forward to family 'round the table.

“Still others dream of holly and lights,
And think this the best time for seeing the sights.
No matter your beliefs, by what compass you steer,
Christmas is a special time of the year!”

“Santa, my friend, you old softie, you.
Keep this up for much longer, and I'll be sniffling boo-hoo.
And while all of this miracle stuff is just fine,
Why is it an insurance guy you seek at this time?

“Just what does all this have to do with me?
We write of insurance at Agent & Broker, you see.
And not just of agents and brokers, despite the name,
But adjusters and underwriters and any in this game.

“They read forms and quote rates, inspect and bind,
Dither over court cases, divided by lines,
Mutter about lawyers, regulators and mold,
Talk of cycles and markets and what carrier will fold.

“They sell and they service till exhaustion sets in,
Go home, kick the dog, and start over again.
Hurricanes, hail, earthquakes and flood
Wreak havoc with their planning, drain their life blood.

“And don't get me started on the subject of terror -
Will TRIA expire? Will Congress care? Or
Will Spitzer change insurance beyond recognition
And put an end to the payment of contingent commissions?

“Confusing? You bet! Sure, some days it's fun.
But most of the time, it's hard work never done.
It sure would be cool to be in your shoes,
And never again have the insurance scribe's blues!”

Santa sat quietly, until sure I was done,
Then rose to his feet, saying, “Follow me, son.
I hear your words and feel your angst.
It seems you have labored, for not enough thanks.
“You remind me a bit of the parent who's sad,
Who must punish a child who's done something bad.
As the child gets angry and shakes his fist,
The parent says, 'Some day you'll thank me for this.'

“But the seasons and years go rolling along,
And the day never comes when the child sings that song.
The parent may be forgiven for having this doubt:
'Did I do the right thing? Will this work itself out?'

“C.S. Lewis had it right, when old Screwtape set forth:
The victory isn't won by great power or force.
The greatest wound isn't caused by a clout,
But rather the planting of a small seed of doubt.

“And I see you have doubts about this business of yours.
So follow me, son, to a few distant shores.
There you will see what a harvest you yield
From the efforts of those who labor in your field.

“First to California, Northridge by name,
Where earthquakes are the dominant game.
How quickly you forget who rebuilt this place
After great swaths of buildings were swiftly erased!

“While we're here, on the West Coast,
There's still more of which to boast.
Remember the World Series where everyone froze,
And the tremors that collapsed all those elevated roads?

“Yet look all around you today, my son.
Those terrible scenes, where have they gone?
They've rebuilt, repaired, restored what was lost.
And I wonder who paid the billions it cost?

“Yet onward we must travel-the nighttime, it flies-
To the Midwestern areas, where once from dark skies
Descended tornadoes, swirling like devils,
That devoured and killed until whole towns lay leveled.

“Yet today look around, and what appears to your eye?
Homes rebuilt, communities alive.
Folks resume business, families go on.
And I wonder who picked up the tab, my son?

“Farther north and east, where the floods came that day,
Where rivers rose high, and sandbags gave way,
Where businesses lost all, and mud covered the street,
The TV showed haggard folks who looked beat.

“But look right now, how glorious the sight!
Colored lights twinkle, streets are alight
With those same folks, once so sad and drear.
I wonder who paid to rebuild their good cheer?

“Quickly now, on! Our time's almost through.
But we can't end without having a Florida view.
If any would be right to say, 'Miracles are no more,'
It would be those in a state hit by hurricanes four.

“Yet even now, midst all the destruction,
Folks give thanks-and await new construction.
They need no end to this misery dread.
They need only look south, to good old Homestead.

“For there once roared a killer, Andrew by name,
Whose power and winds put all others to shame.
Billions and billions of damage was done,
And many there were who said all was gone.

“Yet within a few days, then weeks, and then months,
Came the resolve and the hands and the funds,
To rebuild homes, businesses, lives.
And from whence, dear boy, did those billions arrive?

“Don't misunderstand me-I know that it's clear
That FEMA, the Red Cross and others were here.
But let's not overlook who, too, paid the freight:
It was those folks mentioned earlier who carried the weight.

“No miracles? Ha! That brings us back home,
To where we began this rhythmical tome:
'Every day they shine brightly, but are noticed by none.'
Of whom did you think I was talking, my son?

“None but that industry of which you spoke:
Of adjusters and agents and underwriter folk.
Of all who labor daily, these wonders to craft,
These amazing deeds you so slight- are you really so daft?

“Miracles they are, even though you're unaware
Of how you take on burdens we otherwise must bear,
For pennies on the dollar, a mere pittance compared
To what it would cost us if you weren't there.

“You restore lives, and cities and homes!
You pay for college and mend broken bones!
You arrive precisely when needed the most.
And for all of these things, I now raise a toast!”

And at his words all the denizens of the North Pole,
Elves and reindeer paused in their roles,
Lifted a cup of hot chocolate to me,
And cried out, “For the miracles all around us we see!”

Now I must tell you, it brought tears to my eyes-
And not just their kindness produced happy sighs.
No, it was the miracles shining so bright,
All about me every day that had escaped my sight.

So to you this season, my wish is quite clear:
Let your Christmas be Merry, and Happy New Year!
Take some time, relax, you've earned some fun.
For miracles indeed you do-God bless us, every one!

The bard Chris Amrhein can be reached at insuranceisfun@aol.com.

Special Reports /

Policy Issues: Santa, in rhyme, says you've earned a good time

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