It's an Ozi Christmas!!

Wednesday, Jan 01, 1986 at 01:00



T’was the night before Christmas; there wasn’t a sound,
Not a possum was stirring; no-one was around.
We’d left on the table some tucker and beer,
Hoping that Santa Claus soon would be here;

We children were snuggled up safe in our beds,
While dreams of pavlova danced ‘round in our heads;
And Mum in her nightie and Dad in his shorts,
Had just settled down to watch TV Sports,

When outside the house a mad ruckus arose;
Loud squeaking and banging woke us from our doze.
We ran to the door, peeked cautiously out,
Snuck onto the deck, then let out a shout.

Guess what had woken us up from our snooze,
But a rusty old ute pulled by eight mighty ‘roos.
The cheerful man driving was giggling with glee,
And we both knew at once who this plump bloke must be.

Now, I’m telling the truth – it’s all dinki-di,
Those eight kangaroos fairly soared through the sky.
Santa leaned out to pull at the reins,
And encouraged the ‘roos by calling their names.

‘Now, Kylie! Now, Kirsty! Now, Shazza and Shane!
On, Kipper! On, Skipper! On, Bazza and Wayne!
Park up on that water tank, grab a quick drink,
I’ll scoot down the gum tree, be back in a wink!’

So up to the tank those kangaroos flew,
With the ute full of toys, and Santa Claus too.
He slid down the gum tree and jumped to the ground,
Then in through the window he sprang with a bound.

He had bright sunburned cheeks and a milky white beard.
A jolly old joker was how he appeared.
He wore red ‘Stubby’ shorts, rubber thongs on his feet,
And a hat of deep crimson as shade from the heat.

His eyes – bright as opals – Oh! How they twinkled!
And just like a goanna, his skin was quite wrinkled!
His shirt was stretched over a round bulging belly,
Which shook when he moved, like a plate full of jelly.

A fat sack of ‘prezzies’ he flung from his back,
And looked like a swaggie unfastening his pack.
He spoke not a word, but bent down on one knee,
To position our goodies beneath the Yule tree.

Surfboard and footy-ball shapes for us two.
And for Dad, tongs to use on the new barbeque.
A mysterious package he left for our mum,
Then turned and he winked and he held up his thumb;

He strolled out on the deck and his ‘roos came on cue;
Flung his sack in the back and prepared to shoot through.
He bellowed out loud as they swooped past the gates –
‘Merry Christmas to all, and goodonya, mates!’

J and V
"Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted."
- Albert Einstein
Lifetime Member:My Profile  My Blog  Send Message
BlogID: 2670
Views: 22177

Comments & Reviews

Post a Comment
Blog Index

Sponsored Links