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A Harkers Island Christmas Story
Twas a night afore Christmas when all through the house
'neary a thing was stirring, not even Hattie Lee, my spouse.
The waders was a hangin by the chimney with care- in hopes that
Santa Claus would fill 'em up thar.
The yungerns was nestled all snug in thar beds, with visions of
sweet tatar pies slam filling their heads.
Ma in her sou'wester, and I in my cap had jest settled down to catch us
a nap.
When out in da water there rose such a sound- I jumped to da window
to see if a skiff had run aground.
And don't you think that it weren't a shock to see Santa Claus
stranded on an oyster rock.
Now that ain't the half of it-- there's more. The poor ole fellow was
awadin' ashore.
I could tell by his looks he weren't none of my kin-but boy let me tell ya
he was mad as a wet settin' hen.
He was utterin' a word as he went strait to his work.
cause he lost one of his boots in da mud when he pulled with a jerk.
Well he went to da Rice's but thar he got tired trying to
get across the sandspurs in their front yard.
He went to the Willis' to give them a lot, till he tripped and
fell on a rusty crabpot.
Bout ready to give up, he went to Zola's down da road-
and all she got was an ugly oyster toad.
He headed to the Munden's but turned around- figured the way
he looked , they'd put him in the ground.
So wet and full of sandspurs thar he stood: he decided he better get
while the getting was good.
So he swam to the boat ready to leave da island: pulled her
in reverse and ran slam in a pilin'.
I heard him hollar as he sank outa sight,
" My Lord, honey ain't I been momicked this night!"
Merry Christmas from the Island,
Dennis 21Z
Author
Connie McElroy
'neary a thing was stirring, not even Hattie Lee, my spouse.
The waders was a hangin by the chimney with care- in hopes that
Santa Claus would fill 'em up thar.
The yungerns was nestled all snug in thar beds, with visions of
sweet tatar pies slam filling their heads.
Ma in her sou'wester, and I in my cap had jest settled down to catch us
a nap.
When out in da water there rose such a sound- I jumped to da window
to see if a skiff had run aground.
And don't you think that it weren't a shock to see Santa Claus
stranded on an oyster rock.
Now that ain't the half of it-- there's more. The poor ole fellow was
awadin' ashore.
I could tell by his looks he weren't none of my kin-but boy let me tell ya
he was mad as a wet settin' hen.
He was utterin' a word as he went strait to his work.
cause he lost one of his boots in da mud when he pulled with a jerk.
Well he went to da Rice's but thar he got tired trying to
get across the sandspurs in their front yard.
He went to the Willis' to give them a lot, till he tripped and
fell on a rusty crabpot.
Bout ready to give up, he went to Zola's down da road-
and all she got was an ugly oyster toad.
He headed to the Munden's but turned around- figured the way
he looked , they'd put him in the ground.
So wet and full of sandspurs thar he stood: he decided he better get
while the getting was good.
So he swam to the boat ready to leave da island: pulled her
in reverse and ran slam in a pilin'.
I heard him hollar as he sank outa sight,
" My Lord, honey ain't I been momicked this night!"
Merry Christmas from the Island,
Dennis 21Z
Author
Connie McElroy
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