And now, a Wintertide's Tale:
Gather round children and sit by the hearth,
To hear a Wintertide's tale well suited in farce.
For this evening I'll tell you a poem to hear,
The story of Hengest-Clause and his evening of fear.
@Jonificus
Gather round children and sit by the hearth,
To hear a Wintertide's tale well suited in farce.
For this evening I'll tell you a poem to hear,
The story of Hengest-Clause and his evening of fear.
'Twas the night before Wintertide, when all through Vissinghelm,
Not a peasant was stirring, they rested quite well;
The work day was long and the Duchy was thriving,
Knowing that Ol' Hengest-Clause would soon be arriving;
The children were nestled all darkly in bed;
While fears of swift Winter justice replayed in their heads;
And mamma had left out some rum and a locket,
Knowing the best way to graces was to line a man's pocket,
While I tried to feign sleep on a bed made of hay,
But my home was awakened to a thundering bay.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon threw down light to a harrowing scene,
On a man who was typically so harsh and mean,
Whose presence was welcome yet feared on our grounds,
It was Ol' Hengest Clause, and his eight magic hounds,
While he drove the red sleigh he cracked them with whips,
And his voice gave a boom as he called "Run, you shits!"
More rapid than eagles his shepherds they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Thrasher! now, Crasher! now Ripper and Threat!
On, Smasher! on, Basher! on, Killer and Death!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
HAR HAR HAR, we'll show these peasants once and for all!"
And much like a dragon just learning to fly,
They sprang up wall, then tumbled into the sky;
So up to the housetop the hound dogs they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and Ol' Hengest-Clause too—
And then on our roof which was made out of straw,
I heard the thudding and scratching of each impatient paw.
As the hounds took relief on our peasantly roof,
Down the chimney Ol' Hengest-Clause fell with an "Oof".
He was dressed all in fur, with a patch on one eye,
And a smoke in his hand as he asked, "Got a light?"
He shambled his way through our humble abode,
Then eyeing the treats we had left for him, strode,
His eye—how it twinkled! His smile had grown wide!
He was pleased with our offering (which wasn't a bribe)!
He drank and he smoked, then he eyed up my mum,
While his hand stroked his beard with a thought-laden hum;
The cig he had lit and held in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
As he opened his pack and began to distribute,
Wintertide cards, and small tokens of tribute.
For on one night a year, this man would relax,
Would pause all the floggings and hangings and tax;
And pass justice along to the peasants unnerving,
Either in such small gifts, if they were deserving;
Or if they were not, something else he would leave,
He would take a small letter from out of his sleeve,
And leave it out someplace for the children to find,
A Wintertide warning, a threat one ought to mind;
"NoW LiSTen HeRe, yOU HouSE FulL Of bRAts,
BeHAve YouRsELveS NoW or I'lL SKin alL yOUr CaTs."
And we all understood, to avoid Hengest-Clause threats,
That before next Wintertide, we should settle our debts.
Then back up the chimney with a bellow he flew,
And took off with his hounds into the silvery blue,
But as I lie very still, through the window I'd hear,
"HAR HAR HAR! This is the best time of year!"
