The Santas 
( Jóhannes úr Kætlar ) 

I want to tell a story 
of those boys, 
who broke here in the past 
on the farms home. 

They were seen up in the mountains, 
-as many people know, - 
in a long tail tail 
on the way down to the countryside. 

Grýla was their mother 
and gave them giant milk, 
but the father Leppalúði, 
-there were boring people. 

Those Santas were named, 
-in Christmas they appeared, 
and one by one they came, 
but never two and two. 

They were thirteen 
these gentlemen, 
who did not want to annoy 
all at once 

At the door they snuck in 
and reduced the valve. 
And most of all, they searched 
in the kitchen and pantry. 

Cunning at first glance 
they hid here and there, 
to the useless indicator, 
if no one was around. 

And like, though some see, 
was not hesitated 
to tease people - and disturb 
its peace of mind. 

Jumping pole  came first, 
sticks like a tree. 
He snuck into the sheepfolds 
and played on the farmer's money. 

He wanted to suckle the ewes, 
-then they had no seals, 
for the poor man had legs, 
-It did not go well now. 

Giljagaur  was another, 
with his gray head. 
-He crawled down from the gorge 
and shot into the barn. 

He hid in the booths 
and the foam stole, 
while the cowgirl had 
to the cowboy talk. 

Stúfur  was the name of the third, 
the stump saw. 
He crouched in a pan, 
when possible. 

He ran away with her 
and shook the particles, 
which sometimes burned solid 
at the bosom here and there. 

The fourth,  Washing Games, 
was distantly narrow. 
And he rejoiced greatly, 
when the cook went. 

Then he flew like lightning 
and the wash grabbed, 
and held with both hands, 
because she was sometimes slippery. 

The fifth  Pottaskefill, 
was a strange cold. 
-When the children got shovels 
he knocked on the door. 

They ruku'up, to take care of 
whether a guest was traveling. 
Then he hurried to the pot 
and got a good price. 


 

The sixth  Ash Games, 
was completely unprecedented.- 
He in front of the beds 
drove his ugly head. 

When the people put the ashes 
for cat and dog, 
he was slung to catch them 
and licking in various moods.

The seventh was  Door knockers, 
-that was a bit awkward, 
if the people wanted in the twilight 
have a good time. 

He was not special 
huddled over it, 
though violently bruised 
the hinges in. 

Skyrjarmur, the eighth, 
was a terrible bull. 
He slammed the o'n of the saw 
with his fist broke. 

Then he moaned 
and over the food gein, 
until he stood on a whistle 
and moaned and pure. 

It was the ninth  Bjúgnakrækir, 
tricky and snarky. 
He threw himself into the ditch 
and knelt there. 

He was sitting in the kitchen 
in soot and smoke 
and ate there hung edema, 
as no betrayal. 

The tenth was  Windows, 
greyish man, 
who snuck onto the screen 
and looked in on him. 

If anything was in there 
nice to see, 
he usually reaches later 
in it tried to achieve. 

Eleventh was  Atrial fibrillation 
- he never got a cold, 
and yet had so hilarious 
and a huge nose. 

He smells of puff pastry 
found on the moors, 
and light, like smoke, 
the smell flowed. 

Ketkrókur, the twelfth, 
know various songs.- 
He trampled in the countryside 
on Þorlák's Mass Day. 

He grabbed a tutu, 
when possible. 
But sometimes it turned out to be short 
his pole then. 

It was thirteenth  Kertasníkir, 
-then the weather was cold, 
if not he came last 
on Christmas Eve. 

He chased the little children, 
who smiled happy and nice, 
and strolled around the town 
with their tallow candles. 

On Christmas Eve itself, 
-sagan simulates from, - 
on their boy they sat 
and turn the lights on. 

Then they went away, 
-it then took frost and snow. 
On the Thirteenth 
the lad went. 

Long ago in the mountains 
is found in their path. 
-But the memories change, 
in pictures and poems.