A Christmas Fixer-Upper Story
Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung on the piano with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
Jack was all nestled very snug in his bed,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in his head;
And Becky in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
...but an old rusty awning which had blown itself clear.
The house on the inside had been fixed up so nice,
With fresh paint and new trim and the glow of tree lights.
The front of the house was no longer a fit,
The house had to do something, this just wasn't it!
"My new people love me, I need you no more.
Get off my front porch, you ugly eyesore!"
(Or, some very large icicles fell on the awning and knocked it off in the middle of the night. Your pick as to the true story; we prefer the poem. Now if Santa would just bring us some new siding, the outside would reflect the lovely indoors finally).
