‘Twas the Day Before Christmas.


December 24, 1997

‘Tis the day before Christmas, and all morning long

The fruitflies and fieldmice are raising their song

In a house fraught with last-minute loose ends and clutter

At a feast of burnt cookies, and crumbs in the butter

. . . .

On a day when each family gathers together

Or, drives to a service in all kinds of weather

And, the baked goods get set on the crystal glass plate

The working girl worries that she will be late

. . . .

For shopping, for wrapping, for tieing the bows

On gifts that are purchased before the stores close

In that hour and ten minutes left in the week

Between teaching, and coaching, and checking the leak

. . . .

In the front winter tire that broke the beer bottle

When she hit the ground running, and lay on the throttle

Beating time on a ten-day-old ticket to pay for

Odd-parking the car on the even-side day.

. . . .

She could tell you about the big trip to the West coast

(That summer vacation of which all teachers boast

For they know, just as well, that their jobs are much harder

Than sorting the laundry or stocking the larder)

. . . .

She could rave, on and on, about concerts and shows

And, the fifty-nine middle-school kids’ highs and lows

When the Superintendent said: “Sing, here, for us!”

One puker, two fainters, they’d packed on the bus

. . . .

To raise “Hallelujah!” for folks in a rest home

On the last day of school  (the lead tenor stayed home)

She could say that they sounded like cherubs, but, hey!

This woman was glad just to get through the day

. . . .

So, the dishes are soaking, again, in the sink

With a promise to wash….themselves (I think)

And, the laundry holds court, on top of the bed

And, the bakery will hold nineteen cookies, they said

. . . .

If they close by three, and I get there by two

I can have pine-nut clusters to share with you

Sometime between Christmas and New Year’s Day

When I think about you, and the things I would say

. . . .

If I could, and I should have, on your Christmas card

Which I did not send, have me feathered and tarred

‘Cause, I love you, and need you, and want you to know

That, when I have time, I will tell you so

. . . .

But, the kitchen’s a mess, and the brain is in drive

And, the world spins around, and we stay alive

By the grace of the God, who forgives us all

In spite of the housemice, who live in the wall

. . . .

So, call me, and write me, and email me, too

I’m online – and, out of line, asking of you

But, time passes quicker, the older we get —

Stay in touch:   littlebarefeet@msn.com – not .net !

.

.

Merry Christmas, and

Happy New Year!

.

.

.

© Ruth Ann Scanzillo

1997

all rights.

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