Tuesday, November 30, 2010

A forwarded message from my father.

An Australian Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas;
there wasn't a sound.
Not a possum was stirring; no-one was 'round.
We'd left on the table
some tucker and beer,
hoping that Santa Claus
soon would be here;
We children were snuggled up safe in our beds,
while dreams of pavlova danced 'round in our heads;
and Mum in her nightie,
and Dad in his shorts,
had just settled down to watch TV sports.
When outside the house
a mad ruckus arose;
Loud squeaking and banging
woke us from our doze.
We ran to the screen door,
peeked cautiously out,
sneaked onto the deck,
then let out a shout.
Guess what had woken us up from our snooze?
but a rusty old ute
pulled by eight mighty 'roos.
The cheerful man driving
was giggling with glee,
and we both knew at once
who this plump bloke must be.
Now, I'm telling the truth
it's all dinki-di,
those eight kangaroos fairly soared through the sky.
Santa leaned out the window
to pull at the reins,
and encouraged the 'roos,
by calling their names.
'Now, Kylie! Now, Kirsty!
Now, Shazza and Shane!
On Kipper! On, Skipper!
On, Bazza and Wayne!
Park up on that water tank.
Grab a quick drink,
I'll scoot down the gum tree.
Be back in a wink!'

So up to the tank those eight kangaroos flew,
with the ute full of toys,
and Santa Claus too.
He slid down the gum tree
and jumped to the ground,
then in through the window
he sprang with a bound.
He had bright sunburned cheeks
and a milky white beard.
A jolly old joker
was how he appeared.
He wore red stubby shorts
and old thongs on his feet,
and a hat of deep crimson
as shade from the heat.
His eyes - bright as opals -
Oh!  how they twinkled!
and, like a goanna,
his skin was quite wrinkled!
His shirt was stretched over
a round bulging belly
which shook when he moved,
like a plate full of jelly.
A fat stack of prezzies
he had flung from his back,
and he looked like a swaggie
unfastening his pack.
He spoke not a word,
but bent down on one knee,
to position our goodies
beneath the yule tree.
Surfboard and footy-ball shapes
for us two.
and for Dad, tongs to use
on the new barbeque.
A mysterious package
he left for our Mum,
then he turned and he winked
and he held up his thumb;
He strolled out on deck and his 'roos came on cue;
Flung his sack in the back and prepared to shoot through.
He bellowed out loud
as they swooped past the gates -
and goodonya, MATES!'


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