A Rangers ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
‘Twas the Night before christmas and all through the Park,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a lark.
The Stetson was hung by the stove with great care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The Juniors were nestled snug in their bags,
With visions of tree forts, slugs and steep crags.
Mamma with her tea and I with my beer;
Had just settled down & taken off my gear.
When out in the Park there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my lazyboy to see what was the matter.
To the Contact Station I flew like a flash;
Tore open the gates and threw up the hatch.
The moon reflected on the new fallen puddles,
Gave way to the doe and her babe in a huddle.
When what to my rain speckled glasses appeared;
But a mini ford ranger and 8 tiny mule deer.
With a little old driver holding a hiking stick;
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
More rapid then bears his coursers they came,
and he stood there saluting and calling them by name.
Now Dasher! Now Dancer!
Now Prancer! Now Vixen!
On Comet! On Cupid!
On Donner! On Blitzen!
To the tops of the trees just like a bird;
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away herd!
As water that before the wild tsunamis flood,
head to the sky when they are met with mucky mud.
So up to the mountaintop the coursers they flew,
with a sleigh full of duty gear and St Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof;
The slipping and sliding of sopping wet hoofs.
As i grabbed for my light and was turning around,
Through the trees St. Nick came with a bound.
He was dressed in Olive green pants, shirt and hat,
A stetson, black boots, and a duty belt made him look fat.
A sack full of provisions was slung on his back,
probably wishing he’d invested in a better hiking pack;
and he looked like a transient opening his bag,
All this rain really made the thing sag.
His eyes-how they twinkled, his hair wet and soggy;
he had a glow i could see even though it was foggy.
His mustache lined mouth was drawn up like a knot;
He looked like he could be someones prison mug shot.
The stump of his pipe looked like it came from a tree over there,
I quickly scanned the man once over as I didn’t want to stare.
He had a chubby face and a fat little tum,
He even smelled like he’d been sipping some rum.
He was chubby and plump, a jolly old man,
A pacific northwestern and no sign of a tan.
He gave a firm handshake and kindly patted his deer;
It was then i knew i had nothing to fear.
He chatted along while he went straight to work,
Filling stockings with mag lights, and then turned with a smirk.
New stetsons for all and rain gear all shiny,
We can finally stop listening to the Park Aids all winey.
He blew his emergency whistle and out came his team,
I could tell from the tracks that they’d all been upstream.
He grabbed his paracord reigns and as he drove out of sight,
I heard him yell “Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.”