'Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the barn,
Old Mac was a-jokin' and spinnin' a yarn.
With his feet propped up
and his arms spread wide,
He was tellin' the ranch kids
of old Santa's ride.
But it wasn't Rudolph a-leadin' the pack,
A string of wild horses was bringin' him back.
Over ranches and hay fields
Santa did fly,
Carrying toys and gifts across the night sky.
"On Dobbin, on Stewball, on Seattle Sue,
Go Rampage, go Racer, go Hullabaloo.
The children are a-waitin'," Santa did cry.
"You hay burners are stuck in one gait,
by the by.
Lift up those hooves and shift into high,
Or mornin' will find us a hundred homes shy."
"Grandpa, you're silly," a small voice did say,
"It's the reindeer that pull Santa Claus's sleigh."
"Now youngun' you know your grandpa don't lie."
"But everyone knows that horses can't fly.
Pigs and eagles and reindeer can too,
but horses are muley and made out of glue."
"Don't ever let Santa hear you say that.
He'll be here soon a-wearin' his hat
and swingin' his bag he'll climb on the roof,
But he'll not leave you nuthin' if you don't have proof,
that his reindeer ain't hosses a-wearin' a rack
of antlers he carved from brickity brack.
Off to bed with you now before it's too late,
For Santa loves children who think grandpas are great."
Merry Christmas, everyone!
~Jean Henry Mead