26/12/2024
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the holler,
Not a critter was stirrin’, not even old Blue, the c**n dog scholar.
The stockings were hung by the woodstove with care,
In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.
The young’uns were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of moon pies danced in their heads.
Ma in her kerchief and me in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When out in the yard there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my recliner to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Knocked over my spittoon and stepped on the trash.
The moon on the hilltops and fresh-fallen snow,
Lit up the outhouse like a heavenly glow.
When what to my wonderin’ eyes should appear,
But a rusted-out truck pulled by eight mangy deer.
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew right away it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than spit from a chaw did they run,
And he whooped and hollered at each critter by name.
“Now Bubba! Now Bocephus! Now Cooter and Earl!
On Daisy! On Jethro! On Skeeter and Pearl!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now giddy up, giddy up, dash away all!”
Like hay bales that fly when tossed by the twister,
They leapt and they bounded—every critter and mister.
Right up to the rooftop the deer they did soar,
With the truck full of toys and ol’ St. Nick at the door.
And then in a twinklin’, I heard on the tin,
The scratchin’ and pawin’ of them hooves settlin’ in.
As I pulled on my boots and was turnin’ around,
Down the stovepipe ol’ St. Nick came with a bound.
He was dressed all in denim from his head to his boot,
And his clothes smelled of hickory and Christmas tree root.
A bundle of goodies he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just openin’ his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks red as apples, his nose like a cherry.
His drawl was as smooth as sweet apple pie,
And his beard was as white as a West Virginia sky.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
Filled up the stockings, then turned with a smirk.
And layin’ a finger aside of his nose,
He gave me a nod, up the stovepipe he rose.
He jumped in his truck, gave a holler and whistle,
And away they all flew like a cornfield thistle.
But I heard him exclaim as he rumbled from sight,
“Merry Christmas to y’all, and to y’all a good night!”
Custom multi medium tumbler art. Every piece is hand crafted and no two items are identical
