CHRISTMAS WITH UNCLE WILLY

By: Drake Spentington (a.k.a. Bill Hamilton)

Here it was, Christmas Eve, down on the farm,

Uncle Willy was at it spinning a yarn.

At his elbow was Jimmy; at his side was Marie,

At his knee were the cookies,

At his feet there was me.

He was plump as he sat there all bubbling with cheer,

In his left hand his pipe and in his right was his beer.

One leg was extended, the other tucked in,

We all waited patiently for the tale to begin.

Quietly listening we were spellbound with awes,

For Uncle Willy had actually met Santa Claus!

It was a long time ago and his memory unclear,

So up went the bottle for a sip of more beer.

And then he began, and the story he told,

Was of Willy the boy, who was then four years old.

“It was now Christmas Eve with not much in store,

The harvest was bad and my Folks they were poor.

The family huddled close so we all wouldn’t freeze,

My sister was whimpering and started to sneeze.

Mom and Dad went upstairs for more bedding and clothes,

While the wind swirled through cracks and bit into our toes.

My Brothers and Sisters dozed off one, two, three,

And all that remained was little old me!

Then all of a sudden I heard a loud snap

And next on the roof came a rat-ta-ta-tat.

Down from the chimney came coal, dust and soot

And soon there appeared a massive black boot!

I tried to awake all those slumbering heads,

Their bodies were limp in their substitute beds.

I turned around quick and there he did stand,

Decked out in his red suit, a large bag in his hand.

He whispered a secret as he brushed off his sleeve

“In order to see me you have to believe!”

As he walked through the room the lights glistened bright

The fire bellowed forth giving warmth to the night.

He emptied his bag spreading gifts on the floor,

Then grabbed our axe in the hallway and walked out the door.

In a while he returned with a beautiful tree

We took our time decorating Old Santa and me!

But, all things must end and the time came to say

“Merry Christmas Wee Willy I’m off to my sleigh!”

And off he did clatter that merry Old Sprite

I can still see his silhouette fading deep in the night.

I woke up my Dad but, saw doubt in his face,

When I related the story, which had just taken place.

So that was Willy’s story though hard to conceive,

Only those who see Santa, are those who believe!

Old Willy stood up to get us off to our beds,

While all sorts of notions, whirled round in our heads.

A little while later I snuck out by the stairs

And there was Uncle Willy asleep in his chair.

It was as though he was waiting for his Old Friend tonight

As his chair faced the glow of the fireplace light!