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Forward
I am writing this tale to
enlighten all those
Who feel sorry for folks on the Isthmus;
Those who wonder if we, in the tropical land,
Miss the fun that they have when it's Christmas!
We admit we've no frost-bitten
fingers to warm,
We've no chilblians to thaw by the stove;
We've no sidewalks all buried in snow two feet deep -
We've no coal scuttles, either, by Jove!
No, our ears don't get cold
and our faces don't chap,
Nor our noses get blue, like the heather;
We, of course, have our troubles, our Christmas-time woes,
But we seldom get sore at the weather!
We have people bring present
when we're not prepared,
We get fits that are funny - and formal;
We send presents to folks who don't know we're alive -
We, in short, have a Christmas quite normal!
At our Yuletide down here,
we've gay sunshine and flowers,
While the Trade winds go whistling by;
We have palm trees, blue water, warm days without end,
We've a big Southern Cross in our sky;
We eat turkey and dressing,
plum pudding, and cake,
We sing carols a little off key;
We have mistletoe, holly, green wreaths on our doors,
While the kids dream old Santa they'll see;
We have Christmas trees
dressed up in tinsel and snow,
With the Bethlehem Star up above;
We fill rows of small stockings with toys, Xmas Eve,
And we listen to sermons on love!
So, dear friends, if you sympathy, more that you need,
Don't waste it, I pray, on the Isthmus;
For, though exiled, from home at this time of year,
We do have a Christmassy Christmas! |
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Christmas on the
Isthmus
'Twas the night before
Christmas! Old Santa
Claus sat
In his shop far up north, making toys
To be put into stockings all over the world
For exemplary girls - and boys!
His plum, kindly wife
in a ruffled white cap
And petticoats, warm, wide and thick,
Was busily helping to pack the big sleigh
For the forthcoming ride of Saint Nick;
The reindeer outside were all
resting their feet,
While filling themselves full of hay,
Because they knew well from past years on the job
They'd get little or none on the way!
It was right in the midst of
this bustling scene
That a hesitant knocking was heard;
"Come in!" shouted Santa, the jolly old elf,
As he wound a mechanical bird.
The portal swung back with a clattering bang
And from the cold blackness outside,
A man stumbled forward, all covered with frost,
And shivered the warm fire beside.
He rattled the sleet from his frost-stiffened
beard.
Plucked icicles from his brow;
Then, stamping the snow form his half-frozen
feet,
Bent low in an awkward bow.
Old Santa Claus' jolly red face was all smiles,
As, chuckling and laughing with glee,
He gave the cold stranger a pat on the back,
Inquiring just who he might be.
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