Filed under: Holidays on the Road, Humor
IT WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS (Revised by…… well, ME!)
The stockings were hung by the campfire with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of iPads danced in their heads,
With Mom in her Snuggie, and I in my Crews,
We had just settled down for the Late Night News -
When the camper started shaking, I sprang from my chair,
I thought that the awning must have caught air.
Away to the door I flew like a flash,
Slipped on the floor, and scattered the trash.
The Scare Light sparkled on new fallen snow,
Gave the luster of mid-day to a gas grill below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Winnebago Brave, packed full of gear.
The engine sputtered as if it were dry,
With the miles it had traveled, it was no wonder why.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
Faster than rising fuel prices, his helpers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
Now Valero! Now BP! Now Texaco! Now Chevron and Exxon!
“On Love’s! On Pilot! On Murphy and Marathon!
“To the top of the tank! To the top of the wall!”
“Now pump away! Pump away! Pump away all!”
As lawn chairs and awnings before the winds fly,
When he refused to use Ethanol, no one asked why;
So up to the roof-top the helpers they flew,
With the Winnebago full of Toys – and St. Nicholas too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the wires,
The spinning and sliding of six RV tires.
As I stuck out my head, and was looking around,
Off the awning St. Nicholas came sliding down:
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all spotted with campfire soot;
A bundle of toys was flung on his back,
And he looked like a hiker just opening his pack:
His eyes – how they twinkled! His dimples how merry,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His mouth was cracked open and had a bright glow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
A piece of a Smore he held tight in his teeth,
His beard smeared with marshmallow and chocolate beyond belief.
He had a sunburned face, and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly:
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself;
A twist of his head and a tug on his ear,
Soon let me know I had nothing to fear.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
Then giving a nod, back up the awning he rose.
He sprung to his ride, to his diesel gave a crank,
And away they all rolled, with fresh fuel in the tank.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight-
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
- Randy T. Agee, Christmas 2012
With my sincere apologies to either Clement Clarke Moore or Henry Livingston Jr. – both men are disputed as originators of the poem first published on Dec. 23, 1823 in the Troy Sentinel newspaper in upstate New York
HAPPY CAMPING TRAILS TO ALL! (AND MERRY CHRISTMAS TOO)
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