'Twas the Night Before Thanksgiving

'Twas the night before Thanksgiving, when all 'cross the land,
many were traveling to visit relatives firsthand.
The planes were lined on the runways with ease
in hopes the congestion would soon be appeased.

The luggage was crushed, all smashed in the bins,
with content crinkled and damaged within.
And travelers with children, and those without,
had just settled their brains on turkey with kin.

When out of the sky there appeared such a sight!
Little white flakes that caused a great fright!
Away to their windows the passengers did scan,
to see Mother Nature wreaking havoc on each plan.

Where once the moonlight gave the luster to planes,
now there's snow in Chicago and o'er the great plains.
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but eight mighty salt trucks to make it all disappear.

Those eight little drivers, so lively and quick,
I knew in a shake one must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles, his plows they came,
and he whistled and shouted of other cities by name:

"Now Dallas! Now Denver!
Now, Pittsburgh and Vegas!
Oh, Canton! Oh, Calais!
Oh, Detroit and Boston!
To the end of the runways!
To the top of the jets!
Now dash it all, dash it all,
Dash it all away!

"Chicago has snow and until it's all clear,
nobody, yet no one, will pass through here!
We've heard it before, for all flights led to O'Hare,
we know very well, all air traffic is ensnared.

"Happy Thanksgiving to all, and to all many blessings!"

 

 

I really only set out to say it looks like we're having a white Thanksgiving in Chicago. But some how this pathetic little poem consumed me and I had to get it out of my brain. I'd copyright it, but it sounds like another, hmm; 'sides, who'd want this one with it's poor little rhymes? (And by the time I finished said rhymes, most of the snow had melted away.)