I found this through a quick googling:
There weren’t any chimneys, but that caused no gloom,
for Santa came in through the Florida room.
He stopped at each house….stayed only a minute,
emptying his sack of stuff that was in it.
Before he departed, he treated himself
to a glass of papaya juice upon the shelf.
He turned with a jerk and bounced to the car,
remembering he still had to go very far.
You can read the whole poem here.
Most people think Christmas requires cold and snow, but for me a temperature of no lower than 60 degrees seems just about right.
One year, the thing I wanted the very most for Christmas was a navel orange. Santa brought me one, and it was the most beautiful orange ever. I refused to eat it, it was so beautiful.
It molded. That was less pretty.
Still, I fondly recall my Christmas orange.