From another time, another place...

[Kid Sopris]

There is a Forum..A long time ago. I was there; a story teller and conscious, if I may be so bold. When along come Christmas to a fantasy place known only to those there. Join with me now to yesteryear and a destruction of a Christmas Tale....

Night Before Christmas in Slick Rock

It Twas the night before Christmas, When all through in this tiny Hamlet,

Not a creature was stirring, not even a drunk yelling ‘Damn it”

The boots were drying by the fireplace with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Colts Single Actions danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our body’s for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the porch there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the chatter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature drunk, and eight tiny queers.

With a little old gun, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be the Robbers of Slick,
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Bruce! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Cicero! On, Cupid! On Conner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the front door of the hall!
Now sash away! Sash away! Sash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, they laid down and cry,
So up to the jail house the coursers they flew,
With the body full of lead, and Robber Slick too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the back,

The action working on a ‘97, it would rack,
As I drew my Colt, and was turning around,
Down the street A ninth robber came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with mud and soot.
A bundle of goodies he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a thief, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the sight on my Colt was as white as the snow.

The stump of a cigar he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a sawed off shotgun
That roared when he fired it, and a flash of the sun!

He was chubby and plump, a short dwarf of an elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon let me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And raised the ‘97, then pulled with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his trigger,
And giving a stiff look of surprise when I didn’t move or jitter!

He missed me high, and off to the right,
And away my Colt fired a dead man in my sight,
But I heard him exclaim, ‘as he died of fright,

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

A Slick Rock Poet, No Doubt©2005
(Kid Sopris)

[grandpawj]

I always knew, that is exactly how it happened!! Merry Christmas Kid.

Willie