To ALL the fine Christian SDers. And to the rest of us,ya gotta admit that Christmas is one “strange interlude” and we could use a lot more like it. . Have a good 'un. Hope you enjoy this, now git ta bed, Santy Clause is on his way.
‘Twere the night before Christmas, in Texas, you know.
Way out on the prurrie, without any snow.
Asleep in tha cabin, were Buddy and Sue,
A dreamin’ of Christmas, like me and like you.
Not stockins, but boots, at the foot of their bed,
Fur this was Texas, what more need be said,
When all of a sudden, from out of the still night,
There came such a ruckus, it give me a fright.
And I saw ‘crost the prurrie, like a shot frum a gun,
A loaded up buckboard, comin’ on at a run,
The driver was “Geein” and “Hawin”, with a will,
The horses (not reindeer) he drove with such skill.
“Come on there Buck, you,Poncho!, & Paint, pull right,
There’ll be plenty of travelin’ for youall tonight.”
The driver in Levi’s and a shirt , flannel red,
Had a ten-gallon Stetson a top uv his head.
As he stepped from the buckboard, he wuz really a sight,
With his beard and moustache, so curly and white.
When he bust in the cabin, the children awoke,
And wuz so astonished, that neither one spoke.
And he filled up thur boots with such presents galore,
That neither could think of a single thing more.
When Buddy recovered the use of his jaws,
He asked in a whisper, “Are you tha real Santy Claus?”
“Am I the real Santa? Well, what do you think?”
And he smiled as he gave a mysterious wink.
Thun he whupped up his buckboard, and called back in a drawl,
“To tha children of Texas, Merry Christmas, You-all”
If yall weren’t lucky enough to be born right Ah still wish “A merry chrismus,yall.”
“Pardon me while I have a strange interlude.”-Marx