Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
I posted this a couple of years ago ... in June, which is when the muse struck ... and thought it would be slightly more seasonally appropriate here. Enjoy.~BBD
a parody of "A Visit From St. Nicholas," by Clement Clark Moore. Enjoy!
P.S. "Evening of Christmas" in the first line means the evening of Dec. 25, not Christmas Eve.
Twas the evening of Christmas, when all through the house,
not a creature could move, no, not even a mouse.
The scent of past goodies did waft through the air,
and the weight of our bellies was too much to bear.
Some wimps were already snuggled in bed,
tossing and turning and feeling half dead.
Mom had her feet up, resting in my lap,
and we both were wanting a good cozy nap.
All through the house we could hear quiet groans,
As bellies digested with grunts and with moans.
Wed stuffed and wed snackied our way through December,
and eaten more cookies than we could remember.
Up through Christmas Day wed thrown diets away,
And now it was over, and twas time to pay.
Our midriffs they bulged, and our belts they were snug;
It felt like the beast had us in a bear hug.
Wed topped off the month with a feastie so grand,
There likely was no foodstuff left in the land.
Wed sat down to turkey, to cranberry sauce,
To creamed corn and muffins, and salads well tossed.
To piles of potatoes, all baked, mashed, and fried,
To peas and to cornbread, and much more besides.
Wed all bowed our heads, then went straight to our work,
We picked up our forks, not a bit did we shirk.
We talked and we passed plates as on we did chow,
Not even reflecting at least, not till now.
When platters were empty and tummies were full,
The holiday feast finally reached its first lull.
We grunted and huffed and we pushed back our chairs,
And slowly we rose, to our astonished stares.
For every fat belly that was in our sight
Looked like it had been oer inflated that night.
Our stomachs were swollen and aching, tis true,
And each person present had eaten for two.
Bellies gleamed in the light and they rose from below,
Making domes round the table, with navels to show.
Some belches were stifled, some hiccups flew out,
And some of us did feel the onset of gout.
We cradled distended guts, eyed the recliner,
and silently thought that not much could be finer.
Uncle Frank got there first, as he waddled along,
and flopped to the seat with a groan loud and long.
The rest of us sank onto sofas and chairs,
Our bulging feast-guts sticking up in the air.
As we drifted away in a food-induced daze,
Our eyelids so heavy, our thoughts in a haze,
From the kitchen quite dimly Aunt Marge did we hear,
Merry (hic!) mas to all we wont eat till next year!
a parody of "A Visit From St. Nicholas," by Clement Clark Moore. Enjoy!
P.S. "Evening of Christmas" in the first line means the evening of Dec. 25, not Christmas Eve.
Twas the evening of Christmas, when all through the house,
not a creature could move, no, not even a mouse.
The scent of past goodies did waft through the air,
and the weight of our bellies was too much to bear.
Some wimps were already snuggled in bed,
tossing and turning and feeling half dead.
Mom had her feet up, resting in my lap,
and we both were wanting a good cozy nap.
All through the house we could hear quiet groans,
As bellies digested with grunts and with moans.
Wed stuffed and wed snackied our way through December,
and eaten more cookies than we could remember.
Up through Christmas Day wed thrown diets away,
And now it was over, and twas time to pay.
Our midriffs they bulged, and our belts they were snug;
It felt like the beast had us in a bear hug.
Wed topped off the month with a feastie so grand,
There likely was no foodstuff left in the land.
Wed sat down to turkey, to cranberry sauce,
To creamed corn and muffins, and salads well tossed.
To piles of potatoes, all baked, mashed, and fried,
To peas and to cornbread, and much more besides.
Wed all bowed our heads, then went straight to our work,
We picked up our forks, not a bit did we shirk.
We talked and we passed plates as on we did chow,
Not even reflecting at least, not till now.
When platters were empty and tummies were full,
The holiday feast finally reached its first lull.
We grunted and huffed and we pushed back our chairs,
And slowly we rose, to our astonished stares.
For every fat belly that was in our sight
Looked like it had been oer inflated that night.
Our stomachs were swollen and aching, tis true,
And each person present had eaten for two.
Bellies gleamed in the light and they rose from below,
Making domes round the table, with navels to show.
Some belches were stifled, some hiccups flew out,
And some of us did feel the onset of gout.
We cradled distended guts, eyed the recliner,
and silently thought that not much could be finer.
Uncle Frank got there first, as he waddled along,
and flopped to the seat with a groan loud and long.
The rest of us sank onto sofas and chairs,
Our bulging feast-guts sticking up in the air.
As we drifted away in a food-induced daze,
Our eyelids so heavy, our thoughts in a haze,
From the kitchen quite dimly Aunt Marge did we hear,
Merry (hic!) mas to all we wont eat till next year!
