My youngest grandchild is too young to believe,
Or remember a thing about this Christmas eve.
My oldest grandchild and kids are too into themselves,
To give a twit about Santa and the elves.
Nevertheless, I have a long-held tradition,
That I intend to keep despite the condition.
Tradition won’t change with the passage of time,
So I celebrate Christmas by writing a rhyme.
It’s not great literature or magnificent verse,
But then I suppose it could be worse.
So without further adieu I give you this rhyme,
As my Christmas story for two thousand and nine.
It was Christmas time in the Cannon household,
In a year that was neither warm nor cold.
I awoke that morning with only one thought,
To rush to the tree to see what Santa had brought.
There we found under that Christmas tree,
A doll for my sister that brought her glee.
But under that beautiful Christmas tree,
There was just one gift that was marked for me.
It was a gift that rocked my very soul,
For all I received was a lump of coal.
My mother had warned me that this would happen,
That I’d just find coal amongst all the wrappin’,
But I ignored her warnings without thinking twice,
And kept on being naughty, not nice.
“A lump of coal,” my sister did interject,
“Doesn’t Santa know that’s politically incorrect?
“If you burn that coal, you’ll harm the atmosphere,
And endanger our future, that is my fear.
For I swear with every breath I breathe,
In global warming I truly believe.”
So Santa did return that very same hour
And replaced my coal with nuclear power.
“We’re going nuke without a care,
Because nuclear power doesn’t harm the air.
Nuclear power will keep us all smiling,
Just like it did at Three Mile Island.
Think of all the trees you have saved,
By not burning that coal to you I gave.
You won’t have to fret about cap and trade,
And you can brag to others ’bout the carbon you saved.”
With that final thought, I suddenly awoke,
And realized it was all just some sick joke.
I didn’t get coal for Christmas at all,
Or anything bad that I can recall.
But when I began this ode, I had no way of knowing,
Of exactly where on earth I was going.
For that, dear reader, I apologize.
For now I clearly do realize,
That every good story requires a good plot,
And that was something that I never got.
So for another year, I put down my pen,
And hope for something better in two thousand and ten,
I leave you this thought for what it’s worth:
“Merry Christmas to all and Peace on Earth.”
JOHN CANNON can be reached at jcannon@dailyindependent.com or at (606) 326-2649.
