I got inspired to write this a couple of weeks ago and thought it would make a nice Christmas present for all my blog readers. By coincidence, this morning I came across a post on Susanna Hill’s blog with a holiday contest to write your own version of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. So if you’re inspired to write your own version (or already have), why not enter Susanna’s contest. Or you could just pop over there and read some of the other fantastic versions of the classic Christmas tale people have come up with.

Here is the version I wrote a few weeks back, inspired by life on the farm in Australia.

A Farmer’s Night Before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas and out on the farm,

Not a creature was stirring in stable or barn.

The hats were all hung after a long day of sowing,

And just like the song, the cattle were lowing.

The chickens were nestled in roost boxes of straw,

The dog was snoozing by farmer’s front door.

Both farmer and wife sat out in the yard,

Relaxing with cans after working so hard.

When out in the paddock there was stomping of hooves,

“Sounds like the cattle are on the move.”

With one final swig, farmer rose from his chair,

Wondering what gave his heifers a scare.

The pink and gold sky gave just enough light,

For the farmer to see a very strange sight.

An eight-cattle drove pulling a ute,

With a roaring V8 and a tray full of loot.

The driver’s tanned arm propped up on the door,

It had to be Santa, the farmer was sure.

Kicking up dust his Friesian steers came,

And he whistled and shouted and called them by name,

“On Sausage, on T-Bone, on Rissole, on Stew,

On Schnitzel, on Beefy, on Rump Roast, on Moo.

To the top of the hayshed; to the top of the dairy,

Get moving you bullies, stop acting like fairies.”

Then with a bang they crashed on the roof,

The tin rumbled like thunder under each solid hoof.

In through the screen door the farmer did race,

As Santa squeezed out of the old fireplace.

He was dressed in a singlet and blue stubby shorts,

His blundstones were covered in dirt of all sorts.

His skin was all wrinkled and brown as the earth,

He had a belly of considerable girth.

The beard on his chin was white as a lamb,

And the smile on his face as wide as a dam.

He gave farmer a wink and a thumb in the air,

Then offloaded the pressies and got out of there.

He jumped back in his ute and spurred on his team,

The engine grunted and purred like a dream.

He was heard to yell out as he drove out the gate,

“Have a ripper Chrissie and bonza new year, mate.”

To all my blog readers: I hope you have a happy and safe holidays!