One year, I set myself of the goal of producing a Christmas poem with a horsey theme for my horsey friends. Here is is, my version of The Night Before Christmas. I’m hoping the talking horses in this Christmas poem are sufficient to classify it as ‘fantasy’. Wishing you all a Merry Christmas!
The Night Before Christmas
'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the barn.
The horses were napping, all cozy and warm.
The aisles had been swept, the riders gone home.
To family and loved ones, and eggnog with rum.
Curled in the hay, the cat softly purred,
Then woke with a start, for a sound could be heard.
Out in the darkness, louder it swelled,
A jingling and tinkling, the music of bells.
Then there were hoofbeats, high up in the stars.
They circled the rooftop, and dropped to the yard.
They stopped just outside, the horses awoke.
As the door slowly opened with a creak and a croak.
The moon glinted soft through a halo of snow
and showed them a figure, a man all a-glow.
His snowsuit was red, his mukluks laced tight.
His beard long and flowing, and gloriously white.
He stepped through the door, paced slowly ahead.
The horses then noticed the drag in his tread.
He sat on a hay bale, with a tear in his eye,
Propped his chin in his hand, and heaved a great sigh.
“St. Nick, I presume?” the nearest horse asked.
“We’re happy you’re here, but what of your task?
Everywhere children are expecting your gifts
You’ll run out of time, if you lag on your shift."
St. Nick sighed again, and shook his white head.“
My gifts don’t have meaning, and wonder is dead.
The wealthy have so much, and always want more.
Every whim is fulfilled by a trip to the store.
They all seem so desperate.
What can I share that will banish unhappiness,
make them all care
For what they all have,
the riches piled high,
The blue world and green grass,
The things they can’t buy?"
The horses huffed wisely, and one of them spoke
“We teach such things daily to all of our folk:
The power of kindness, the joy of a treat.
How hard work rewards, and devotion is sweet.
How the thrill of a gallop gives meaning to life,
And the gift of just being will banish all strife.
Your job, good St. Nick, is more than just toys.
You’re the spirit of Christmas, the bringer of joy,
The promise of hope in a world all awry.
Like horses, you’re needed, to keep spirits high."
St. Nick nodded slowly, from his pocket he drew
a handful of mints, and licorice too.
Exactly enough for each horse in its stall.
Plus a pat for the cat, and a colourful ball.
The door softly closed, the darkness grew thick.
While out in the moonlight a smiling St. Nick
Took charge of the reins and clucked to his team.
They clopped and they jingled, and climbed a moonbeam,
Till up in the sky, they galloped away.
“Happy Christmas,” Nick cried, “and peace in your day."