Carefully crafted between cups of eggnog um.. coffee.
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the Camp,
Not a creature was stirring, no light in the lamps.
The stockings were hung by the gaucho with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.
Flamingoes were covered and out for the night,
With visions of party lights twinkling bright.
And mamma in her flannel and I in my fleece,
Had just settled our brains for some warm, winter peace.
When out on the porch there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my down to see what was the matter.
Away through the screen door I stumbled, still yawning,
Tore open the rock guards and pulled in the awning.
The moon on the tips of the freshly mown grass,
Shimmered and sparkled as if lit by gas.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a bright shiny Airstream named after a deer.
With a quick talking gent, and long black pipe stem,
I knew in a moment it was Wally Byam.
As silent as whispers he came through the night,
Then he chortled and mumbled and then spoke, outright.
"Now Bubble! Now Wee Wind! Now Pacer and Clipper!
On Sovereign! On Zephyr! On Cruisette and Liner!
To the front of the dump line, let’s prepare for the haul,
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dull tin that before the buffing wheel flies,
When it meets with the compound, it shines in the sky.
The skin of my trailer, he revitalized,
He polished and buffed, then he Walbernized.
Then in a twinkling, I heard on the lawn,
The jingling of keys and a soft stifled yawn.
As I lit up the stove and was turning around,
In the front door Wally came with a bound.
He was clothed in overalls worn for the shine,
And his clothes were all covered in polish and grime.
A bundle of tools he set down real slow,
As he said he was tired and asked for some Joe.
His eyes - how they twinkled, his tan was intense,
His cheeks were smudged, his hair was a mess!
His hands were all gnarled from years of hard work,
And his chin was clean shaven below all that dirt.
The tip of his pipe was cocked to the right,
And he bent over to light it on the hot pilot light.
He had a kind face and a small little belly,
He professed to have gotten from pastries in Dehli.
He was kindly and quick, a jovial sort,
And I laughed when I saw he had red boxer shorts!
A wink of his eye, as he opened his sack,
Soon gave me to know he was sharp as a tack.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
And filled up my larders, then turned with a jerk.
And crinkling up his smudge covered nose
And giving a nod, the front door he did close!
He sprang to his rig, pulled up the front jack,
And away he flew, from my now, shiny shack.
But I heard him exclaim as he pulled out of my site,
"Happy Christmas to all, in an Airstream tonight!"
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