A Christmas Poem
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that a Tom Anderson guitar soon would be there;
The guitar players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Drop Tops danced in their heads;
And mamma with her microphone, and I in my strap,
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,
Hoping to get an Anderson guitar instead of some cash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the guitar’s finish below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a cool looking driver, out on the lawn,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Tom.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Drop Top! now, Cobra! now, Crowdster and Classic!
On, Cobra S! on Baritom, Hollow Drop Top and Hollow T Classic!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of the world’s best guitars, and St. Thomas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Thomas came with a bound.
He was strapped with guitar and tapping his foot,
And his clothes were all Anderson with “A” logos and soot;
A bundle of cases he had flung on his back,
With just one of those guitars, think of the rhythm parts I could track.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his fingers how they flew!
His tone was like angels, I grabbed my kazoo!
I wanted to join in but just stood there in awe,
He even got uproarious applause from my dear little grandma;
The neck of the Cobra S was fast in his hand,
And with its ease of playability he was in definite command;
But this Santa did not have the traditional little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly
He was not chubby nor plump, still a right jolly, tall elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And slid a guitar case into my stocking; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team strummed a chord,
And away they all flew…I can’t wait to record.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all an Anderson Good-Night! Happy Playing!”
Now they’ll be no peeking at your present until next we meet for Guitar of the Week. By looking at the picture, see if you can tell what Santa is trying to keep. You’re going to love it! Happy Holidays!
The Holiday Season can be a fun filled and magic time of year. Peace on earth is one of the greatest gifts. It begins with us. Offer kindness and understanding in the face of disharmony this year and begin the process that will eventually fill the whole world.