The Night Before Christmas… In Marietta

Written by Jack and Trish Ries

Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the town
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a train sound.

The beer mugs were hung at Mccleary’s with care
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

Mariettians were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of snow plows danced in their heads

Trish in her PJ’s and Jack with his nightcap,
have just settled their brains for a long winters nap.

When down on Market Street there arose such a clatter, the dog’s sprung from the bed to see what was the matter.

A way to the window
Jack flew like a bird
Tore open the curtains
and said a swear word.

The moon on the crest of the fresh fallen snow
Gave the flag on the square a Christmas-y glow.

When what did his wondering eyes should appear,
but Bob and Wendy Shank in a sleigh with a keg of beer.

With a little old driver so lively and quick, we knew in our hearts that it wasn’t Saint Nick.

More rapid than the river his border collies they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name.

On Bootsie, on Freckles,
Let us make way
They turned the corner and headed down Gay.

As leaves before the fall that may fly,
Those dogs were off quick in the blink of an eye.

So back to the deck, the dogs they flew,
With a toys and snacks, and a beer or two.

And then in a minute I sensed in the air,
The presence of presents that soon would be there.

And as I sat there, my head in a tizzy,
Saint Bob came down the chimney, fast enough to make me dizzy.

He was dressed in a suit, all furry and red,
Enough to make me look twice while scratching my head.

A bundle of bottles he had flung on his back,
And looked like a bartender peddling his sack.

His eyes they twinkled as he brought whiskey and sherry,
His libations, of course, would make Christmas quite merry.

He laughed and he giggled while holding his belly,
And if he were fat, it would have jiggled like jelly.

He was jolly any happy, a perfect old elf,
And he smiled and laughed in spite of himself.

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
I knew there was absolutely nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but instead he got busy,
Filling Christmas stockings with booze that would make us dizzy.

He filled up the stockings, not offering prose,
but afterward up to the chimney he rose.

Away to his sleigh he flew like a flash, and off into the distance his dogs they did dash.

But I heard Bob exclaim, ere he flew out of sight,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”