Chimney Fire Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Only forty more sleeps
and then Santa will come
with the bells and the beeps
and the presents for some.

Only good kids will get
what all good kids have earned
so there's no need to fret
where our tribe is concerned.

Now the stockings are swaying
near the chimney's old brick
and the snowflakes are playing
all in honour of Nick.

It is bedtime and after
but all riled are the boys
we can hear their sweet laughter
as they think about toys.

They've turned on in a hurry
their CB radios
will they work in the flurry
of the blizzard, who knows?

They were talking on air
to a deep and stern voice
and with all-knowing flair
over loud static noise,

were discussing details
as to when the big shipment
with the things it entails
thanks to proper equipment,

would arrive then to fill
all the stockings at last
when the room became still,
and young Greg yelled it fast:

' Hold your reindeers, St. Nick
when you get here and use
it is equally quick
the front door, do not choose

our old chimney today
you will burn in the flames
and our stockings will sway
with no toys and no games.'

Now you know the tradition
of the stockings still works
and each year it's his mission
to stop by at those jerks

who with timber and coal
light their Christmas Eve fire
from the distant North Pole
comes the man we admire,

and he slides with Ho Ho
down the chimney to bring
all the goodies we know
and his praises we sing.

But the sound Ho Ho Ho
is a real good answer
it's an arctic air blow
as suggested by Prancer.

And no fire keeps going
to prevent bringing gifts
it is cold out and snowing
and they fly over drifts.

Merry Christmas to Santa
and to all living things
from the Pole to Atlanta
and for paupers and kings.