Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, with a chill wind a-blowing

A glance out the window confirmed it was snowing

I was out in the workshop, cranking hard on the press,

The bullets were Nosler; the dies? RCBS!

My new Lyman tumbler was shining the brass

As hard flakes of white stuff kept tapping the glass

A glance at the mercury showed the temperature was dropping

And it seemed a good plan that I soon would be stopping

The evening grew darker and the snow started drifting,

You could tell that this storm would not soon be lifting

So I cranked up the heater, and rubbed hands together

Hoping elk, deer and rabbits would survive this foul weather

I scrubbed out my Marlin, and wiped down my Colt

Then took out my Savage and oiled the bolt,

I touched up the bluing on my trusty Sig Sauers

And made myself busy as I passed through the hours

It might have been Midnight, or a little thereafter

When my senses were jarred by the noise of his laughter

I was barely awake, I must have been dozin’

When he burst through the doorway, his white beard all frozen

His red flannel coat was all crusted with ice

And he stood near the heater, saying “Man, that feels nice!”

Was I only just dreaming, had my mind played a trick?

Or was I really the host to fat old St. Nick?

He brushed off the snow from his round little belly

And fixed a warm gaze on my fine old Benelli

“I can see you still hunt some,” said this wise Yuletide jester

As he fingered the stock of my vintage Winchester

He glanced ‘round my workshop as the storm became louder

“Looks to me that you’re running a bit low on powder.”

So he reached in his bag, and pulled out a case

Of Hodgdon propellants, with a smile on his face

Then he paused while he pondered, and he seemed to recall

“You’re a front-stuffer shooter, here’s some patches and ball.”

And then one more package, to clean my guns fine

A bottle of Hoppe’s, that old No. 9!

I held up my hands and said, “That’s quite enough!”

“I’m about out of room for all of this stuff

“You’ve been way too generous, you’ve filled up my shelves.

“How’s this going to look to your over-worked elves?”

“Don’t worry,” says he, “I’ve got plenty of toys

“For all of the good little girls and boys

“And there’s more in my sleigh for their sisters and brothers

“Their hard-working dads and their tireless mothers.

“But for hunters and shooters, there’s always new ammo,

“Binoculars, boots, or a full set of camo

“A backpack, a firearm or a razor sharp knife

“Something they’ll treasure for the rest of their life.”

With that, he departed, and outside I could hear

Him speaking so softly to eight tiny reindeer

“There’s work to be done. We don’t want to be late

“Let’s make for the sky, boys, the children won’t wait!”

With sleigh bells a’jingling, and a hearty “Ho! Ho!”

He was off like a rocket in a flurry of snow

He left nary a track, but one thing I remember,

He promised he’d be back this way next December