'Twas the night before Christmas,
when all through the hills
not a creature was stirring
thanks to the 16-24” of freakin’ snow!
The stockings were hung
by the chimney to dry,
they were all soaking wet;
no dry ones, I sighed.
The puppies were nestled
all snug in the bed,
while visions of rawhides
danced in their heads.
With Molly chewing a kerchief,
and then on my cap,
I’d just settled my achin’ back
for a short winter's nap.
When out on the roof
there arose such a clatter,
I laid in the bed as
I knew what was the matter.
I opened the blinds
just to see a big flash,
snow ‘bergs falling off the roof,
just missing the sash.
The moon on the breast
of the week-fallen snow
constantly reminded me
that this snow was going to
be around a loooooong time.
When, what to my wondering
eyes should appear,
but a snow plow on the front
of a big green John Deere.
With a little old driver,
so worn out and weary,
I knew in a moment
it must be Joe Leary.
More rapid than snails,
his chained tires they came,
and he whistled and shouted
but I couldn’t really hear him because
the tractor made so much noise:
No, I’m serious…I couldn’t
hear a damn word he said…
As dry snow that before
the wild winter storms fly,
when he met with an obstacle,
lifted his blade to the sky.
So up the steep road
to the house he did creep,
with the sleigh full of ice melt
and chains, a supply he did keep.
And then, in a twinkling,
I heard on the roof
the prancing and pawing
of reindeer hooves?
As I drew in my head wondered
if I’d had too much of
Aunt Jenny’s egg nog,
up the driveway Joe came
with a waddling jog.
He was dressed all in polarfleece,
from his head to his foot,
and his clothes were all soaked
from being in the elements
longer than he’d like to remember.
A big bag of salt he
had slung on his back,
and he wearily said,
“Where do you want it, Jack?”
His eyes--how they watered!
He had ‘some’ and tottered!
His cheeks were like roses,
his nose like W.C. Fields...
or Dean Martin...or Brooks (Foster)!
His droll little mouth was
drawn up like a pucker,
and the beard on his chin
was like any road-haulin’ trucker.
The stump of a cigar he
held tight in his mouth,
smoldering while he mused
how’d we get so much snow
so early here in the South?
He had a broad face
and a little round belly;
lots of Twinkies and cola,
and biscuits with jelly.
He was chubby and plump,
but I didn’t care,
and I laughed when I saw him,
with his fly-away hair.
A wink of his eye
and a twist of his head
soon gave me to know
this guy’s gonna need some
professional help real soon.
He spoke not a word, but
went straight to his work,
dropped the bag of salt,
then turned with a jerk.
He slipped on the ice
and fell down on the ground,
and giving a nod he was okay
up on the tractor he bound...kinda.
He fired the engine,
to the pups gave a whistle,
and away he did lumber
like a three-toed sloth missile.
But I heard him exclaim,
'ere he drove out of sight...
(Well, again, with that tractor’s
throaty diesel I really couldn’t
hear him at all, but I THINK
it was something like….)
"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL,
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!"
