Season's Greetings

For those few still around to see it, here is my most recent Christmas poem which restores some of the details that have been lost over time in the story of the three wise men.

Three men, in the desert, on camels
Passing the time with a game of I-Spy
Till the middle one said, “I don’t want to play.”
And the one at the front asked him, “Why?”
“Well to start with,” he answered, “You always
Pick ‘S’ and it’s ‘Sand’ every game”
His companion responded indignantly
“Look around, I am hardly to blame.
And besides, it’s not true, and you know it.
It’s a false accusation, a lie
I don’t always pick ‘sand’ as the answer
You’ve forgotten the time, I picked ‘sky’.

Game abandoned they continued their journey,
Rode on into the night, heading East
Till the one at the back asked, “Where are we going,
On the world’s most ridiculous beast?”
For an answer, the middle one pointed,
Said, “We’re following that star over there.”
The other one considered and pondered,
Then, choosing his words with some care,
Said, “Aren’t the stars up above fixed and steady
In their usual place in the skies?
So we’re following a thing that’s not moving -
And aren’t we supposed to be wise?

They rode on in silence, some distance.
Then he spoke up again from the rear.
“If we’re visiting a mother and baby
Would some gifts be quite good idea?”
His companions agreed he was speaking
A great deal of good common sense
And stopped when they saw an oasis
Surrounded by tradesmen in tents,
But everywhere seemed to be sold out.
Every shelf was quite empty and bare
“Should have come yesterday, it’s the time of the year”
Was the cry that they heard everywhere.”

But then in the final emporium,
The proprietor said , “if it’s presents you lack,
I’ve one last jar, slightly damaged, of some ointment,
And some smelly stuff left out in the back.”
With reluctance the first traveller paid him,
And received a cracked jar in return.
The second did likewise for the perfume,
But the third said “I’ll keep what I’ve earned.
Instead of this rubbish, I’ll just give them cash.”
Which explains what the story, never previously told
Why Frankincense and Myrrh were such terrible gifts
Though they were really quite pleased with the gold.

I like! First smile I've had all day

It occurred to me earlier this rainy Sunday that our popular songs deserve to be re-written:

I'm dreaming of a wet Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the tree-tops glisten and children listen
To friends splashing down below

I'm dreaming of a wet Christmas
With every Christmas card I get
May your days be merry, and yet,
Seems like all our Christmases are wet

Good stuff, you two!

I heard that the third of those smart fellas was named Frank. When the other two wanted him to buy a gift of smelly stuff as they did, Frank, incensed, demurred.

Now, Hab, turn off the (bad) news, go watch a Marx Brothrs comedy, or maybe Young Frankenstein, and have a couple more laughs!