Thursday, 25 December 2014

It Was The Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through Kirksville
Not a creature was stirring, except old A.T. Still.

His children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of skeletons danced in their heads.

With Mrs. A.T. in her hospital gown, and he in skull cap,
They settled their brains for a long winter's nap

When up from the kitchen there arose such a clatter,
He sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the stairs he flew like a flash,
Tore into the pantry, grabbed the phone in a dash.

"My hubby, Santa, is aching," said his poor distressed spouse.
"How will he visit the children tonight, if his muscles are spasm'd
and he's bent over tight?"

"Just send him over," said Uncle A. T. ,
"And I'll do a treatment with my OMT."

More slowly than snails Santa's coursers they came,
And he moaned and groaned and begged them by name.

"Ow, Dasher! Ow, Dancer! Ow, Rudolph and Vixen!
No, Comet! No, Cupid! No, Donder and Blitzen!

"To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Go slowly, go slowly, go slowly you all!"

So up to the housetop the coursers flew
With a sleigh full of St. Nicholas and his aching bones too.

"Get off of my roof, you aching old coot,
Or you'll have occupational dysfunction to boot."

As Andrew poured for the visitor a glass of Jim Beam,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a scream.

His body was twisted from his head to his foot,
And his bones were all tangled and bruised black as soot.

His old little spine was drawn up like a bow,
And the color of his face was a pale as the snow.

"A bundle of toys, I can't fling on my back.
And I look like a peddler who can't open his sack."

A wink of Still's eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave Santa to know he had nothing to dread.

A.T. spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
With his knee on Kris' spine, he gave Kringle's neck a big jerk.

Then placing a finger on Santa's sore muscle,
It popped, and it snapped, and it cracked, and it bustled.

Santa sprang from the table and started to whistle,
But A.T. insisted he lay on some hay and some thistle.

"Bed rest, bed rest, that's what you need.
I'll deliver the packages with your trusty steeds."
And A.T. heard Santa exclaim, as he left him below,
"Thank you old buzzard, you are a darn good DO."

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