A Cowboy's Christmas

A Cowboy's Christmas( with apologies and gratitude to Clement C. Moore)


Twas the night before Christmas, and all thru the spread,
The cattle were sleeping, all 500 head.
The tack was hung in the barn with care,
Ready for the work-day that would soon be there.

The cowboys were snoring in their bunk-beds
While dreams of soft saddles ran thru their heads.
And Maw in her nightgown and I in my hat,
Had just hunkered down for a long winter's nap.

When out in the barnyard there rose such a racket
Then I fell out of bed and grabbed my jacket.
To the window I flew like a fast burning flame,
Tripped over my boots, put my hand thru the pane.


The moon shining bright on the fresh fallen snow,
Lit up the barnyard and the scene below,
When what should I see with my bleary eyed stare
But a shiny stage coach and 8 tiny black mares.

With a dusty little driver, an old cowpoke,
I thought for a moment it must be a joke.
Quicker than lightning, his horses they came,
And he whooped and he hollered and called them names.

Now,dang you, now darn you, now you old mules,
On with it, get moving, you dad blasted fools.
To the top of the roof and over the wall,
Now giddy up, giddy up, giddy up all.

As tumbleweeds before the west wind blow
Before they hit the fences, roll and roll,
So up to the rooftop the mares flew
With the shiny coach and the old cowboy too.

And then in an instant, I only heard of course
The neighing and pawing of each black horse.
As I pulled in my head and also my hand,
On the fireplace hearth I saw the oldtimer land.

He was dressed in red, an old union suit,
And covered in ashes from his head to his boots.
Two saddlebags he had slung on his back,
He was bent like a mule under its pack.

His face, how wrinkled! his eyes shot red,
His cheeks sunburnt under a snow-white head.
His tight little mouth was drawn up in a leer
And white was the color of his bushy beard.

His lip stuck out with a wad of chew,
His teeth were obvious for the lack of a few.
He had a tight face and a belly likewise
All of which lent to his diminutive size.

He was lean and trim, a regular ranch hand,
No different than most who rode the rangeland.
A twinkling eye, a quick nod of his head
Let me know he was friendly, nothing to dread.

He turned,not speaking a word to me
And emptied his saddlebags under the tree.
He laid out presents for all of the crew
And then up the chimney he flew.

He jumped on the coach, to his team gave a yell,
And away they flew, like a bat out of hell.
But I heard him call before he flew out of sight,
Merry Christmas pardner, have a good night!