Apologies to Clement Clark Moore
Twas the night before Christmas,
when all through the flats ¹
Not a creature was stirring, not even the cats.
The stockings were hung on the liquor cabinet with care
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.
The baby was screaming her lungs fit to burst
No matter how gently her Mum and Dad nursed.
We tried to meditate, use the power of Zen
But Imogen has just filled her nappy again.
When out on the lawn there arose
such a clatter
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the poor
sun burned grass
That gave a parched gasp in the drought that holds fast.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear
But the relo’s who turned up lugging their gear.
So up came the family bearing their gifts
for Christmas is time to mend all your rifts.
With presents and food and cartons of beer
and Santa Claus hats to add to the cheer!
"Now possums! now, magpies! now, willy wagtails!
On, blue tongues! On, spiders! on beetles and snails! ²
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Careful of the steps kids in case you may fall!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane leap
A family will under the Christmas tree heap.
Presents, and I tell you, they brought not a few
With tucker bag filled and one brought home brew.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the tin,³
The possums cavorting and making a din.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
I begged for the baby’s sake that they don’t make a sound.
But Grandparents, Uncles and Aunts can’t deny
That though sleeping babies on Christmas day try.
To ignore all the rowdy and bubbling noise
They must soon be wakened to play with their toys.
The table was set and the food was all very
scrumptious to look at as we all watched the telly.
For the cricket was on and we watched the ball bashers
As they finished the poor pommies hope for the ashes. 4
I opened the BBQ and took out the meat
as the rest of them all fumbled around for a seat.
Dads served their children and husbands their wife,
some poured the drinks and one grabbed the knife.
He spoke not a word yet, but went straight to his work
And cut up the ham and the turkey, then turned.
And he said a few words to the family that gathered,
Then onto his bird the gravy he lathered.
He said Merry Christmas and wished us all cheer
so we toasted his kindness with plenty of beer.
And I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he sank out of sight
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
Merry Christmas to all. Just a quick warning. I have been roped into busking Christmas songs on Thursday afternoon out the front of Northbridge plaza. None of us have a scrap of talent, so if you are in the area, I apologise.
- Poetic licence. I live in a house.
- It rhymes, so sue me.
- Actually we have a tiled roof
- Actually the last test starts on boxing day. Poetic licence again.