| Subject: For Moon....A Saint Elvis Christmas |
Author:
Jerusha
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Date Posted: 08:08:49 12/22/04 Wed
Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the shack,
I could hear the distinct sounds
of my Grandpappy's hack.
We had just hung our stockings
in a jubilant mood,
in hopes that St. Elvis
would bring us some food.
Daddy was nestled
all snug in his bed,
coal dust covering
his pillow and head.
No wood in the stove,
the cold numbed my feet,
to add insult to injury
Ol' Red was in heat.
When out on the lawn
I heard the grinding of gears,
I sprang from my bed
almost frightened to tears.
When what to my wondering
eyes should appear,
but a miniature sleigh
pulled by a dark green John Deere.
With a little ol' driver
shaking his pelvis,
I instantly knew that
it must be St. Elvis.
He was dressed all in sequins
from his head to his toes,
and the top of his lip
curled up to his nose.
His hips how they twitched,
his gut was titanic,
when he leaned on the porch rail,
I went into a panic.
Huffing and puffing,
his face turning red,
soon gave me to know
he'd come back from the dead.
He sang not a note,
but went straight to his work,
filled all the stockings
and turned with a jerk.
Then hitching his pants,
lumbered back to the sleigh,
fired up the tractor,
and was soon on his way.
Then he bid us adieu
with his personal touch...
"Merry Christmas to all
and Thanks Veramuch!"
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