A CowKids Night Before Christmas

By Cowgal Madeline

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the ranch

 not a creature was stirring, not even a barn owl on a branch.

The stockings were strung with mecates of horse hair, 

in hopes that Cowpoke Claus would soon be there. 

The boys in their Christmas pjs;

And I in my Christmas socks,

Both waiting to hear the sound of reindeer hooves drop.

When out in the corral, 

We heard lots of hollering,

We sprang from our bedrolls to see what was conjuring. 

When what to our wondering eyes should appear,

But a Christmas saddle bronc bash on 9 rank reindeer.

With a little old announcer, so humorous we were left with dropped jaws,

It could be no other than the handy cowpoke Claus.

Faster than maverick cattle, his ranch reindeer they came,

And he whistled and hollered all of their names.

"Now, Spade! Now, Spur!

 Now, Puncher and Cinch!

On, Romal! On, Hondo! 

On, Dally, Tietjen and Freno!

To the YP, Tejon, and Owyhee they hauled, 

Now trot away, trot away, trot away all!

As cattle that scatter before the wild magpie fly,

As they meet with their saddles and mount to the sky.

So up to the barn roof, the ranch reindeer flew,

With saddle bags full of toys and cowpoke Claus too.

And then in a flash, I heard on the roof,

The snorting and rearing of each little hoof.

As I imagined in my head and whirled around,

Down the chimney cowpoke Claus came to the ground.

He was dressed in a pearl snap, starched cinch white labels too and olathes on each of his foot, 

A crisp Pendleton vest and 100x, red, grizzly felt with not a speck of ashes or soot.

A riggin bag of toys he had flung on his back.

And he looked like a mountain guide with his string and his packs.

His face-how worn, and his smile so bright!

His hands were like tools and his eyes filled with delight!

The tips of his mustache were curled like a bow.

And the beard on his face was as white as a charolais show cow.

The stump of pink chalk, he held in his hand,

And the color marked him like he was from the cowboy land.

He had a rigid face and a full little belly.

That shook like the brisket on the pet cow named Nelly.

He was thick and plump, like a jolly old rancher.

And I was humored when I saw him as he was quite the Christmas ranch manager.

A clink of his spurs and a tip of his hat,

Soon let me know I had no reason to combat.

He whistled not once and began to execute what he had been planning for months. 

He filled the hung stockings with wild rags and such. 

He jingled his spurs and gave a swift kick, 

then back up the chimney rose cowpoke Nick.

He mounted his string, to his remuda he whistled,

And away they took off like cattle that had been rustled.

But I heard holler, as he galloped out of sight,

Merry Christmas to all, and to all I'll see you out again at daylight!