Florida

A Florida Night Before Christmas

1996

Having just moved to Florida, we were spending our first Christmas there. We wanted to make the tone of our poem reflect the differences we were facing in our new area. The same idea spawned carols like 'Silver Shells' (see the filk link on the main index page for the details). Besides, I always thought Santa was a beach bum at heart.

T’was the night before Christmas, just north of the equator,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a gator.
The palm trees were swaying in the warm winter’s air,
And I wondered if Santa Claus, soon would be there.
The puppies were nestled, all snug in our bed,
While visions of dog biscuits danced in the heads.
And mamma in her nightgown, and I in my robe,
Had just settled down for a millenniums’ doze.
When out on the beach there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from our bed to see what was the matter
I grabbed my flip-flops and flew like the Flash,
Rolled open the blinds and yanked on the sash.
The moon on the breast of the seashore’s white sand,
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects on land.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a mini surfboard and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old beach bum, so lively, so quick,
I knew in an instant it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than egrets his coursers they came,
He whistled and shouted and called them by name,
Now, Wipeout! Now, Pipeline! Now, Tidal and Wave!
On, Sandbar! On, Hermit! On, Moondoggie and Dave!
From the top of the dune to the top of the wall,
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all.
As sand grains that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with the palm trees, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
with the tiny surfboard and St. Nicholas too.
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I yelled for the dogs and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed in Bermudas and a Hawaiian print shirt,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and dirt.
A bundle of goods, he had flung on his back,
He looked like a peddler just opening his sack.

His shades - how they glistened, his dimples like limes,
His cheeks were like kiwi, his nose like a pine.
The stump of a pipe he held in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a belly that soon,
Had poked through his shirt, like an expanding balloon.
He was chubby and plump like most jolly old elves,
The dogs barked when they saw him, in spite of themselves.
A wink of his eye, and a pat on the head,
Soon had tails wagging with nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk.
And laying a finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his board, to his team gave a holler,
And away they all jumped, gosh, I thought he was taller,
But I heard him exclaim ere he flew out of reach,
"Merry Christmas to all, Let’s Hang-Ten, Life’s a Beach!"

Brian and Shirley Dean

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