Twas the night before Christmas
And lo it had snowed
Though less than an inch
covered the road.
“Blizzard!” cried some
“Nor’easter” hollered more.
Even the mayor
Couldn’t get bread at the store.
The elves and their radar
had re-routed old Santa
with frost on the ground
Could he land in ‘Bama?
My family was sleeping
Quite soundly, I say
When fatso and company
slap rurnt his sleigh.
Out on drive
I heard a great thud
Saint Nick had crashed
Into an azalea shrub.
There wasn’t much snow
but from the light of the moon
it was clear the elves
should have used the pontoon.
So Santa was stranded
What a grumpy old coot!
No Tickle-Me Elmo
Just a dirty red suit.
The reindeer were scattered
All over the joint
Uncle Mark said he figured
Rudolf was 10 points.
The shock of the crash
had befuddled old Santa!
He thought the good chillen
all lived in Atlanta.
I set him straight,
Y’all not have feared
I bribed him with cornbread
which speckled his beard.
“Dang this is good,”
He said with a chuckle
And then took to gnawing
The nearest pig knuckle.
I said to the elf
That Andalusia is swell
A great place to live,
Though hotter than the North Pole.
“I shouldn’t leave presents,
This town is so blessed
But I can’t help myself,
Andalusia is the best!”
So this Christmas season,
keep and eagle eye handy
The Big Guy is coming
And staying in Andy
—Morgan Murphy