The Night After Christmas
Polly Gwinn
Twas the night after Christmas, and me and my spouse were surveying the mess strewn all through the house.
The stockings still hung, though tattered and torn from pilferage and looting on Christmas morn.
And I in joggers and he in his gas mask began the inevitable of raking out the trash.
When out in the back yard there came such a clatter, we stumbled to the porch to see what was the matter.
And there with his face all covered with muck was our garbage collector and an overloaded truck.
He ranted and raved; we thought he insane, then he whispered fervently; “I’ll not work this shift again”!
Now the moral to this story as you will be told; don’t give for gifts things you cannot hold.
The trash you can’t burn, the boxes you can’t store and un-wanted gifts are yours evermore.
The house is a wreck after the kids have gone home and with your ill fitting attire you are left all alone.
So next year let’s pray for a depression of sorts and give each other just what’s in our hearts.
Let’s pray real hard and with help from above maybe our houses will be filled with God’s love.
prayers from Texas
Polly Gwinn