Wednesday, December 04, 2013

Th’ Holy Daye

 [Elfs ere a mite weary o’ cute “bowl full o’ jelly” Christmas daye rymz (and they can’t spale), so pleez bare with me, I’ll be doin’ th’ best I can.]

Somz o’ youz been very good,

         somz been more than questionable;

Somz o’ youz been very hopin’

         th’ question’ble iz neglĂ­gible.

Somz o’ youz been sendin’ cardz,

         somz been sendin’ prazents,

Somz o’ youz haz been on tyme,

         but mostliest youz hazn’t.

Now, this ol’ happy Christmas elf,

         a'lookin’ in th’ back,

Underneath me baseball glove

         and an empty birdseed sack,

Fynally found me cardz o’ Christmas,

         stor’d wyzely very near,

Someplace I’d forgot compleetly,

         by th’ end o’ th’ previous year.

So, youz ere probably readin’ this card

         a teeny, wee bit laight,

And wonderin’ why a jolly ol’ elf

         can’t keep me tymin’ straight.

Why can’t he cinch up a saddle and bellz

         on Rudolph th’ palomino,

Go to th’ mall, pick out some cardz,

         and have a cappuccino?

Well, let me offer all an attempt

         to make it christal cleer,

How an ol’ elf myte struggle to view

         with glee, this “hollydaye” cheer;

How th’ lytes grow oddly dim,

         and th’ eggnog densely flat,

Whyle gawkin’ at all th’ hullabaloo

         lyke on a tack he sat:

Listenin’ to th’ radio,

         whyle workin’ in me shop,

I heard an awful, dreadful phraze,

         me bellz a ringin’ stop’d.

It seemz a local mercantyle,

         ignorin’ anchent costums,

Had hyred “hollydaye” elfs to sell

         their hollydaye stuff o’ nostrums.

“Hollydaye elfs!?” I growl’d and shriek’d,

         a’fumin’ in a pique,

Knowin’ many a lass and ladd,

         would find th’ term oblique.

Youngunz ‘round th’ snowy world,

         hearin’ this drab depiction,

Ne’er would reckon th’ BlessĂ©d Daye

         bringz Joy beyond description!

So I doff’d me pointy elfish cap,

         set down me elfish pype,

And, consecratin’ Christmas new,

         condemn’d th’ market hype.

“I yam a Christmas Elf!”, I yell’d

         ‘cross buzy Elfland town,

“(Altho’ me cardz iz somewhat lait),

         I yam no merchant’s clown!”

“No more shoppin’ through th’ stallz!”

         and I drew me family near,

“We will celebrait th’ mass,

         az th’ Holy Daye this year!”

 “But, what about me praz’nts?” ask’d

         th’ elf ladd o’ th’ house.

“We need no stinkin’ praz’nts”, I roar’d;

         him frozen az a mouse.

Then, forthwith, did I recall

         what were th’ praz’nts foor;

Why we bless th’ naighborz all,

         bring victualz to th’ poor.

We celebrait th’ graitest Gift

         and watch th’ darlin’ elflingz playe; 

We worship Mary’s little Ladd,

         ‘cuz Christmas iz th’ Holy Daye.


                                                   ©  2002 Ken Paxton