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The Story Of Scrooge
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Once upon a Christmas Eve, too many years ago,
There was a tale that went around I think you all should know,
About a mean and spiteful man, resentful as could be,
Who cringed at Yuletide spirit-- wouldn't even trim a tree.
"You decorate the branch of pine? Preposterous! How sad!
Then dip into your pockets to buy gifts...have you gone mad?
And entertain, prepare a feast--drink liquor, laugh and joke,
This pert behaviour gags me; on your merriment I choke!"
He'd scoff the village people, cast them cruel and wicked stares;
address their mirth and gaiety with unforgiving glares,
then go about his business like it any other day,
and revel in his profits, for he'd no one else to pay.
I know you must be thinking that you've heard this tale before,
and soon there'll be a knocking at this horrid person's door,
in shape of ghost or heathen to avenge this bitter stooge,
so rest assured the villain isn't Ebenezer Scrooge.
Now, where was I? Oh yes, of course...that dreary winter's night,
the streets were bare and empty, not a single soul in sight,
when just beyond the outskirts of this small and tranquil town,
appeared a Christmas cloud and from it, snowflakes fluttered down.
The village came to life as people stared through window panes,
then frolicked through the square while children nibbled candy canes.
Oh, how the meagre presents looked as though they'd multiplied,
A fellow couldn't make it look this perfect if he tried.
It seemed as though this Christmas Eve was better than before,
as villagers ran cheerfully to each and every door,
with trinkets, food and gifts to share with neighbours on this night,
while singing carols as the snow did glisten pure and white.
His Grouchiness, preferred to sleep through all the 'dreaded' fun,
and dream about how soon his counting schillings could be done,
but knew that soon enough there'd be a price he'd have to pay--
and it was known as loneliness for him on Christmas day.
He woke from slumber, startled, after hearing all the din
and cursed with such vulgarity it truly was a sin.
How dare these wretched peasants break his slumber with their zest-
they all should be in bed asleep--to work, they needed rest!
With scowl and evil eye he hollered, "Humbug!!" out the door,
then turned to spy a most exquisite package on the floor,
adorned in coloured foil with ribbon cinched in tidy bow,
and filled with pipe tobacco--how it came he did not know.
'Twas laid beneath an evergreen, quite spindly in its stance,
but seemed immense or was this just illusion in his glance?
For it was deemed impossible--it had to be a trick
that he'd receive a visit from that infamous St. Nick.
With furrowed brow and puzzlement, he stumbled back to bed;
blew out the bedside candle--pulled a blanket o'er his head,
then tried in vain to tell himself that this had been a dream
for he was not deserving, he was surely much too mean!
He tossed and turned in all attempts to catch another wink,
but found to much dismay his brain was in the mood to think
about his bad behaviour towards the season and his peers,
and how his daily regimen was always filled with jeers.
Perhaps, if he would change his tune or even make amends
the villagers would see him not as foe but as a friend!
And he could only guess about the Christmas gift that night.....
the Santa Claus 'above' had showed him how to see the light.
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