Dmitri asked could I write some Christmassy fun

But it seems that Calliope is on the run.

Now I sit and I'm waiting for her tender kiss

A reward or a bribe would not go amiss.

I've met Clio and even Euterpe at times,

But Melpomene dominates most of my rhymes.

There's Terpsichore, Erato and Thalia

Who're in discord with Polyhymnia and Urania.

If you think of the twelve days of Christmas – no way.

Go and count them. How many are there, do you say?

You are right, there are nine, and they are known as Muses

And I hope my small poem did not confuse.

But in lack of the poets' muse Calliope

I invented my own, her name's Polyglote.

Below you will find the result of her kisses,

A translated poem about German Christmas.

From the forest out there I have come

I tell you, it has Christmassy become.


Everywhere on the tips of the lovely fir trees

I saw golden lights that did sparkle with glee.


And from above, from the heaven's gate

The Christchild looked down with eyes large like a plate.


And as I so strolled through the forest sinister

It called out to me with a voice that did glister:


"Knecht Ruprecht, old chum," it said to me,

"Do not linger, get moving and hurry thee.


The candles are going to be lit

And the heaven's gate is open a slit.


Old and young shall now have a rest

From their daily life's hunting and stress.


And tomorrow I'm going to fly down to earth

So that Christmas can start for what it is worth."


I said: "O sweetest Master Christ

I'm nearly done, to my surprise.


There's just this one town left to go

With lots of lovely children, though."


-"So, did you take your little sack?"

I said: "I did, it's amply packed,


Cause pious children like to eat

Sweet apples, nuts and almond seed."


-"And did you take the birch then, too?"

I said: "The birch is here, it's true.


But it's for naughty boys and girls

To spank their right parts with a swirl."


The Christ child said: "That is all right.

Now go with god, my servant knight!"


From the forest out there I have come,

I tell you, it has Christmassy become.


Now speak up what I find in here:

Some naughty kids, or are you dear?"

Poetry by Bel Archive

Bel

19.12.11 Front Page

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