Twas the Night Before Christmas at the Collins House
By: Winfred Collins
December 2009
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
There was no more room, not even for a mouse.
Stockings were slung all over the floor,
In hopes someone would cram them in the crack under the door.
The children were stacked all snug in their beds,
With visions of biscuits and gravy dancing in their heads.
And mama in her apron, and I in my briefs,
Had just threatened our lives, her promise to keep.
When out in the dirt yard there arose such a clatter,
Everyone sprang from their bed with numerous feet patter.
Away to the windows we flew quick as Pete,
I being dragged tangled in the bed sheet.
The reflection of the moon off the slick ground,
Made every thing visible all the way to the Pound.
When, what to my eyes should appear,
But a big ole fat man and eight reindeer.
I knew right away it had the be Claus,
Cause no one else could have made it past the dogs.
The deer came in as quick as the light,
Santa screaming their names, oh what a sight.
“Stop Comet, Stop Cupid, Stop Donner and Prancer!”
“Stop Dasher, Stop Vixen, Stop Blitzen and Dancer!”
“Fly to the roof you dumb reindeer,
There’s not a chimney down here!”
Like a flash of lightening, they took to the air,
So fast in fact it gave us a scare.
As they passed by the window, there in plan view,
Was sleigh full of toys and some lumps of coal too.
Then all of the sudden a noise on the roof,
Tin being impacted by thirty two reindeer hoofs.
As I turned around there he was,
It was really him, Mr. Claus.
The red fur was black from head to foot,
The coal stove is notorious for all the soot.
There were plenty of toys in that polk,
Toys for all of the Collins folk.
His eyes were glazed and he couldn’t find the lamp,
It must have been caused by the trip up Bold Camp.
He was smiling though, with a big grin,
And his white beard covered his double chin.
He had a pipe stuck in his face,
And smoke filled that crowed little place.
We did not mind, nor dislike,
We were all used to Lucky Strike.
Words from his mouth did not come out,
I think he was eying mom’s sour kraut.
He placed all the toys as quick as he could,
And even placed Ricky’s lump of coal there on the wood.
Back up the chimney in fear for his life,
Cause Ella Mae was going to whoop him with her butcher knife.
I heard him exclaim as he climbed in his sleigh,
I think I will retire on this Christmas day!
By: Winfred Collins
December 2009
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
There was no more room, not even for a mouse.
Stockings were slung all over the floor,
In hopes someone would cram them in the crack under the door.
The children were stacked all snug in their beds,
With visions of biscuits and gravy dancing in their heads.
And mama in her apron, and I in my briefs,
Had just threatened our lives, her promise to keep.
When out in the dirt yard there arose such a clatter,
Everyone sprang from their bed with numerous feet patter.
Away to the windows we flew quick as Pete,
I being dragged tangled in the bed sheet.
The reflection of the moon off the slick ground,
Made every thing visible all the way to the Pound.
When, what to my eyes should appear,
But a big ole fat man and eight reindeer.
I knew right away it had the be Claus,
Cause no one else could have made it past the dogs.
The deer came in as quick as the light,
Santa screaming their names, oh what a sight.
“Stop Comet, Stop Cupid, Stop Donner and Prancer!”
“Stop Dasher, Stop Vixen, Stop Blitzen and Dancer!”
“Fly to the roof you dumb reindeer,
There’s not a chimney down here!”
Like a flash of lightening, they took to the air,
So fast in fact it gave us a scare.
As they passed by the window, there in plan view,
Was sleigh full of toys and some lumps of coal too.
Then all of the sudden a noise on the roof,
Tin being impacted by thirty two reindeer hoofs.
As I turned around there he was,
It was really him, Mr. Claus.
The red fur was black from head to foot,
The coal stove is notorious for all the soot.
There were plenty of toys in that polk,
Toys for all of the Collins folk.
His eyes were glazed and he couldn’t find the lamp,
It must have been caused by the trip up Bold Camp.
He was smiling though, with a big grin,
And his white beard covered his double chin.
He had a pipe stuck in his face,
And smoke filled that crowed little place.
We did not mind, nor dislike,
We were all used to Lucky Strike.
Words from his mouth did not come out,
I think he was eying mom’s sour kraut.
He placed all the toys as quick as he could,
And even placed Ricky’s lump of coal there on the wood.
Back up the chimney in fear for his life,
Cause Ella Mae was going to whoop him with her butcher knife.
I heard him exclaim as he climbed in his sleigh,
I think I will retire on this Christmas day!
