’Twas the night before Christmas here on the farm, not a creature as stirring out in the barn.
The boots were placed by the back door with care at the hopes of not hearing mama holler, “No mud through the house, don’t you dare!”
The children were nestled all snug in their beds with visions of early morning chores fresh in their heads.
And Ma in her Wranglers and I in my hat finally sat down at the table dreaming of a much-needed nap.
When out in the pasture there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the table to see what was the matter.
I reached for my rope and threw up the sash.
Out the door with my rifle, I flew like a flash.
The moon on the breast of the fresh-cut hay
gave a luster of midday to objects that neigh.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear
but a red F250 pulled by 500 reindeer.
With a little ol’ cowboy so tired yet still quick
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick
More rapid than red-tailed hawks.
His coursers they came
And he whistled and yipped and called them by name.
Now, Blackjack! Now, Bourbon!
Now, Poncho! Now, Dixen!
On, Outlaw! On, Sassy!
On, Odessa and Blizten!
To the top of the barn and every last stall.
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away y’all.
As dry crops that before.
The wild tornado fly.
When they meet with an obstacle.
Mount to the sky.
So up to the hayloft
the coursers they flew.
With a sleigh full of toys
and cowboy Nick too.
And then, in a twinkling
I heard on the roof
the clipping and clopping of each little hoof.
As I was drawing my rope and turning around
down the hayloft, ol’ Nick came with a bound.
He was dressed in all Carhart from his hat to his boots
and his clothes were all tarnished with manure and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung over his shoulder
and he looked like a cowpoke standing there with his hand on his holster.
His eyes they looked tired.
His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were windburned.
His nose chapped like a cherry.
His handlebar mustache drawn up like a bow
and the whiskers on his chin
were as white as the snow.
The butt of a smoke
he held tight in his teeth
and the smoke, it encircled.
His head like a wreath.
He had broad face.
And a little beer belly
that shook when he laughed
like a bow full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump.
Hadn’t missed many a supper.
A well fed ol’ cowboy
thanks to mainly to the higher upper.
A right jolly ol’ elf
And I laughed when I saw him, but only to myself.
A wink of his eye
and a twist of his head
soon gave me to know
He approved of my spread.
He spoke not a word
but went straight to work
and filled all the stockings but mine
because I’d been a bit of a jerk.
And swaying his finger
in the air with some cowboy prose.
Back up the loft ladder he ascended and rose
he sprang to his sleigh
to his team gave a yip
and away they all flew
Like the of a whistle of a whip.
But I heard him exclaim
as he drove out of sight
can’t even one of you damn horses listen to me
even for one night?
Merry Cowboy Christmas to all and to all a Good Night.
