Friday, December 10, 2010

'Twas the Season of Christmas

We like to have fun at the Wellshire Event Center, especially in the busy month of December!  If we can't have fun at work, then it's hard to give the great service that we pride ourselves on.   Though the hours are long during this season, we are very grateful for the business and the spirit that the guests bring along with their holiday parties.  Below is a poem, modeled after the classic poem "'Twas the Night Before Christmas," that was written to help bring a little chuckle during these long hours.  The poem is a parody of the timeless cliched scenario of receiving a Christmas bonus.  There are real names of real people in this poem, but the poem was written in good fun, and should not be taken literally.  Happy Holidays to all!  And to all, we thank you for an awesome year and we look forward to your celebrations in the near future!


‘Twas the season of Christmas,
at the beautiful ‘Shire Inn.
All is busy and bustling,
With warm treats from the kitchen.

The decorations are placed,
From the trees to the lights,
In hopes that the patrons will
Find cheer and delight.

The staff is setting tables,
Of Kelly Green and Christmas Red,
While visions of calm January
Dance in their head.

And chefs making potato puree,
And servers screaming May Day,
Have just settled in for a long winter’s stay,

When out on the patio there arose such a clatter.
Away to the window the staff flew like a flash.
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to the golf course below,

When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,


But a silver Mercedes pulled by eight tiny reindeer,
With a tall blonde driver, so clumsy but quick,


They knew in a moment it must be St. Chris.



More rapid than Mau his coursers they came,


And with a South African accent he called them by name;


"Now, Dasha! Now, Danca! Now, Pranca and Vixen! 

On, Comet!
On Cupid! On, Donda and Blitzen!

  To the top of the porch!
To the top of the wall!

  Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"



As quickly as the Shire staff can run around and fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,


So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,


With a Mercedes full of money, and St. Christopher too.



And then, in a twinkling, they heard on the roof


The prancing and pawing of St. Christopher’s shoes.



As they listened quietly, and then turned around,


To the Onyx Lounge chimney where St. Chris fell down.



He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,


And his pink shirt was tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bundle of money he had flung on his back,


And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.



His eyes -- how they watered! His dimples how scary!


His cheeks were like golf balls, his nose like a cherry!



His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,


And some of his hair was turning white as the snow.

A thousand dollar bill he held tight in his teeth,


And a little green dollar sign circled his head like a wreath;



And he knew that his staff had all been underpaid

,
But he trembled at the thought of giving more money away

.

He was a good boss though, a right jolly old man,


But they still had to laugh at this big elaborate plan.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,


Handing each of them money to deem him not a jerk,

And then quite oddly, he put his finger up his nose,


And gave a good nod, and up the chimney he rose.



He sprang to his car and to his team gave a shout,


And away they all flew before he could freak out!



But they heard him exclaim, ere he drove out in a daze,


"Happy Christmas to all, and don’t ask for a raise!"

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