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sass jane
11-12-06, 11:38 AM
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Not a piper was stirring--they all were quite soused;
Their hose were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Saint Knicker-less soon would be there;
The drummers were nestled all snug in their beds,
Midst visions of drumsticks and new Premier heads.
And Ma in balmoral and I in my tam,
Had just settled down for an impromptu jam,
When out on he lawn there rose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair, my music a-scatter.
Away to the window I tore in a hurry.
Yelling to Ma, "Keep piping! Don't worry!"
She struck in her drones and had a wee blow,
As I gazed at the moonlight on new-fallen snow.
Then what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a sleigh full of pipers and drummers and beer.
With a little old driver who spoke with such force,
That I knew right away--he's the PM, of course!
More rapid than eagles his pipers they came--
He whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Angus! Now, Seamus! Now, Gordon and Harry--
On, Duncan! On Ian! On, Willie and Larry.
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now pipe away! Pipe away! Pipe away all!"
Almost as one, and without any gripes,
They blew up and struck in eight sets of pipes.
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The chanters, the drum rolls, with nary a goof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down the chimney Knicker-less came with a bound;
With shoes newly shined, and shirt neatly pressed;
He was, I could see, regimentally dressed.
His eyes--how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
I could see that he'd already been into the sherry.
I smiled at him now and became somewhat bolder,
As a new set of Naills he flung on his shoulder.
The blowstick he held tight in his teeth,
The bass drone caught at and knocked off our wreath.
He had a broad face, was fairly well built,
And, damn! this guy looked good in a kilt!
A wink of his eye, a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I'd be best off in bed;
He spoke not a word, by the light of the moon,
But struck in his pipes and played me a chune.
He played a 2/4, a 6/8, and a reel,
A strathspey, a hornpipe, a jig--with great zeal.
After he'd played all these chunes just for me,
He stopped and put gifts out under the tree--
Pipes by McCallum, and pipes made by Kron,
All guaranteed to blow steady tone;
Reeds and chanters, a new water trap,
Ash plugs and tuners, and all of that---stuff.
Then laying a finger aside of his nose,
He gave the pipes a couple more blows;
He looked at the chimney he'd come down before,
Said, "The hell with this--I'll go out the door!"
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of Scotch thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, e'er he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all--and a Piping Hot night!"

(Written by a lady in Arizona)

jjpiper
11-12-06, 01:28 PM
I love it. Thanks for some Christmas cheer.

piper_dancer
11-12-06, 08:38 PM
brilliant :bg:

Vikki
11-12-06, 08:44 PM
lol, thats cool

Werepiper
12-12-06, 06:35 PM
I love this.

We have an irreverent Christmas Carol concert every year in our pub and I am going to use this as one of the readings. :devil: