‘Twas A Week before Christmas- A Poem

Doing something a bit different this week! I’ve had these rhymes fluttering around my head for a few days now and had to get them out on paper to see how it flowed. In honor of reading the classic poem, ‘Twas a night before Christmas” by Clement Clark Moore every night this week, I hope you enjoy my different kind of ode.

2017 tree

‘Twas the Week before Christmas

‘Twas a week before Christmas, and all through the dwelling

Not a creature was asleep, not even the darling;

The stockings were hung on the mantel with care,

In hope that St Nick would soon be there;

The children were wrestling all in vain,

While chocolate and sugar ran through their veins;

And daddy in his underwear and I in my wrap;

Had just laid our heads on the pillow for a long nights’ nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such chatter,

I sprang from my bed to spy on the matter.

Away to the window, I made a dash.

Gently opened the shutters and opened the sash.

The moon reflecting upon the slush,

Gave a luster of mush,

When what to my wondering eyes did I see,

But a delivery truck dropping off boxes for little ol’ me,

With a little old driver so tired yet quick,

I knew in that moment he was my St Nick.

More rapid than Fedex my packages finally came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called the houses by name:

“Now, red house! now, you! now white and blue!

On you! on, white! on you and you!

To the top of this porch! on, top of this stoop and step!

Now run away! run away! run, run away, there’s a dog, don’t stop!”

As the fall leaves that were never raked fly,

When they meet with an obstacle and circled in the sky;

So down the street the dogs howled as he came into view,

With a truck full of packages, and my St Nicholas too–

And then, in a moment, I heard on the street,

The noise and wailing of a dog in heat.

As I drew in my head and was turning to see,

Down the next house St Nicholas peeked around a tree.

He was dressed in his uniform, from his hat to his boots,

And his clothes were all dirty from cookies and fruit.

A bundle of boxes he had falling out of his pack,

And he looked like a man hitch-hiking with a bag on his back.

His eyes– Looked tired like mine! his dimples gave me the willies!

His cheeks were plump, his nose like a hot chili!

His little mouth was turned up so sweet,

And the beard on his chin was as long as a Swedes,

The stump of a pipe held on tightly by his hand,

And the smoke, I coughed, circled his wedding band;

He had a chubby face and a big burly belly

That shook when he giggled, like a glass full of Baileys.

He was funny and dashing, a right silly old man,

And I laughed when I saw him, I had to give him a hand;

A wink of his eye and throwing back his hair,

Soon gave me the feeling that I knew I had been fair.

He spoke not one word to me, but did his job,

And dropped all the packages; then abruptly turned with a sob.

And putting his hand against his ear,

And giving a sigh, he fled my house for the last time this year;

He jumped in his truck,  and to this world he gave a honk,

And away he drove like he was in a shock.

But I heard him scream, as he whisked out of sight—

“I’m finally done. Merry Christmas and good night!”

I’m not a writer as you can probably tell and I’m sure there are words that would have worked better. But that was fun to write and challenging too! It’s definitely my real life right now. Waiting for packages to come… anxiously and impatiently. I know the delivery services work so hard this time of year and for that I’m thankful for that. Now, if Amazon would quit having such good things and deals, that’d be great.

Until Next Time

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s