The Gift Exchange
“Papa’s gonna kill me,” Ernie said as he peered under Papa’s pickup truck to see just how bad it was stuck in the snow-filled ditch at the end of our driveway.
“Maybe he’ll wait a couple of days until after Christmas so you can open your presents,” I said kneeling beside him.
At fifteen Ernie was two years older than me. He’d just got his learner’s permit and Papa let him drive the truck up and down the driveway. Except Papa wasn’t home and neither was Mamma; they’d taken my sisters Christmas shopping. And we hadn’t asked if it was ok for Ernie to practice driving.
“I bet Clyde could pull it out,” I said.
Ernie looked across the road at Clyde standing by the fence looking like a big snow mountain, only Clyde was a horse.
I liked to pretend that Clyde was Ernie’s horse, but Clyde belonged to the old man across the street. The old man paid Ernie to take care of Clyde. Ernie knew everything about horses. Ernie said Clyde was a Percheron horse like knights rode into battle. Ernie said Clyde was probably a descendant of Tencendur, Charlemagne’s white warhorse.
“C’mon,” Ernie said, and we ran to the old man’s house.
The old man must have been watching us out his window because he opened the door right away.
Ernie explained that he thought Clyde might be able to pull the truck out of the ditch, but we didn’t have a harness. Ernie continued, “I saw a picture of a man using a car tire for a collar and some chains to pull a plow . . .”
“Shut the door,” the old man said abruptly, motioning us inside with his cane. “You could use a tire but seems like if you got a harness you best use it. He stopped before two tall cabinets. Like everything in the house, they were old and dusty. He opened one.
The scent of leather filled the room. Hanging from pegs inside the cabinet were silver studded coils of shiny black leather and a massive black collar.
“I showed a team of Percherons in this harness. I keep it inside here because I like to take it out and polish it. I always won blue ribbons.” He turned to Ernie. “Go get Clyde and bring him up to the porch.”
The old man handed me a bridle with a silver bit and chains. The leather was soft and warm in my hand. It took me four trips to carry all the pieces of harness to the porch. The old man followed with a blanket over his shoulders and leaned heavily against the railing.
Ernie handed me Clyde’s rope and took the shiny black collar. With the old man’s guidance, he slipped it over Clyde’s head. The rest of the harness was soon on and adjusted to fit.
Clyde stood without moving. In the winter sunlight, the harness gleamed and glittered against his white coat. “You know what a single tree is?” The old man asked Ernie, his faded eyes never leaving Clyde.
“You got one hanging over the door of Clyde’s stall,” Ernie said.
“You’ll need that to hook your tugs.” With a final look, the old man went back into the house.
Ernie sent me to get the single tree while he led Clyde down the driveway and across the street to the truck. Ernie found Papa’s yellow towline behind the seat. He fastened the hook to the hitch on the back of the truck. Ernie showed me how to put the truck into neutral and where the brake was. “Once Clyde pulls the truck out, we don’t want it to slide back into the ditch. You need to put your foot on the brake. Don’t take it off until I tell you.”
“Do you think this will work?” I asked.
“I don’t think this harness is for pulling heavy stuff. It feels like the leather is good, but I don’t know how much it can pull before it breaks.”
“What about Clyde?”
“I’m gonna warm him up by dragging the single tree on the road. That should let him know what we’re gonna do. Clyde should be able to pull about a ton. The truck weighs more, but it’s only stuck a little. I think he can do it.”
I watched as Ernie hooked the single tree to the shiny silver chains that hung from the harness. He took the lines from the collar where he’d hung them, and stood behind Clyde. He lifted his hands and said, “Git up, Clyde.”
Clyde walked forward. His neck arched as he pulled the bouncing single tree behind him. Ernie leaned back against the lines. They walked to the end of the road, stopped, turned, and came back. Ernie passed the truck, and stopped.
“Ready?”
I got inside the truck. Watching in the rear view mirror, I saw Ernie hook the towline on the single tree. My foot was off the brake and the truck was in neutral. I put my hands on the wheel. Ernie moved to the side, keeping the lines slack.
“Git up, Clyde,” he said softly.
Clyde leaned forward into the collar. A surge of power rippled though the truck! We were moving!
Clyde’s chin was tucked against his wide chest; his massive shoulders bulged against the collar. I could see the huge muscles of his rump rise and fall as he walked forward pulling the truck out of the ditch and on to the road!
I heard someone shouting and realized Ernie was calling, “Brake!
Reluctantly I pushed down on the pedal. The truck slowed. Clyde stopped. The power drained away. Ernie let me hold Clyde while he unhooked the towline and put it into the truck. He started the engine and carefully drove into the garage.
We took Clyde back to the old man’s porch and took the harness off piece by piece. Ernie knocked on the door. When the old man answered, Ernie told him how easily Clyde had pulled the truck out of the ditch.
“We’ll put the harness back, now,” Ernie said.
The old man shook his head. “You’ll need to clean it first. Why don’t you boys take that harness cabinet down to the barn? It’ll get more use if you know where it is.”
Ernie and I looked at each other. “You mean we can use it for Clyde?”
“There’s an old breaking cart in the garage. Guess if you wanted to, you could take Clyde for a drive now and then.”
Ernie looked at the beautiful harness in his hands. “We’d need someone to show us how –would you teach us?”
The old man didn’t say anything. Then I thought he might have smiled because the wrinkles around his mouth moved a little. He said, “I could at least teach you how to keep from driving Clyde into a ditch.”
We carried the harness box to the barn and made it home in time to help Momma carry in the bags from Christmas shopping. When she asked what we’d been doing all day, we told her the truth – but maybe she wasn’t listening because she never told Papa.
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THERE IS A TIME
He was what you would call three legged lame. His left hind leg was cocked to the side hovering six inches above the ground. It touched the ground only long enough for him to throw his weight forward in another plunging step. His front legs quivered under his shifting weight until the pain in his creaking joints brought him to a stand still a few feet from the rail. As he stopped an audible pop came from his hock and resounded in the stillness of the indoor arena.
A few feet away, Cheryl stood watching him. Tears stung her already numb face as she pulled off her gloves. Moving forward, she reached towards his head. “Hi, Baby.” She whispered as her hand brushed his forelock, slid down his face, and finally came to rest along the side of his muzzle. The heat of his breath warmed her hands, and his ears pricked in recognition as she slide her arms around his neck. She felt his neck rise and stiffen slightly, as his deep nicker sounded above her ear, Any other time, the affectionate greeting would have brought a smile to Cheryl’s face, but today it felt like a dagger twisting in an open wound. She clung to him for some time, burying her head in his thick winter coat, conscience of his earthy horse smell, and trying to control the sobs that racked her body.
From the day she had bought him, she had known that he had “issues.” The type of “issues” that made most first time horse buyers run in the opposite direction. Words like Arthritis, navicular, and insulin resistance. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that establishing a diet for a horse that had the equine equivalent to human diabetes was no easy task. Hay had to be alfalfa-free, grain had to be void of molasses and too much fresh spring and fall grass was always a dicey issue.
But that hadn’t mattered then, and it didn’t matter now. She was blinded by a love that had begun at first sight, and deepened through shared experiences. He was the school horse that had taught her confidence; the partner that had shown her both winning with grace, and losing with sportsmanship, and the best friend who was always there. Indeed, saying that they had been through it all was no understatement. He began as her 4-H horse, which soon blossomed into hunter/jumper and eventing, before changing course to speed, western pleasure, trail, team penning and any number of bareback events. The fact that after ten years, she trusted him with her life was practically a given.
As she held him, her eyes closed, and the years melted away. His swayed back lifted and filled in. His neck arched, and the calcified bumps on his knees flattened out. He was no longer the arthritic 22 year old, but a 12 year old Arabian gelding in his prime. They were galloping through the field. Cheryl’s legs wrapped around his barrel. She felt the rhythmic drumming of his strides. They moved as one, swallowing up the ground. Needing neither saddle or bridle, she steered only through subtle shifts in her weight. Leaning low, Cheryl asked for more. A moment latter, he flattened out. His hooves just skimmed the surface of the ground. The trees flew by, and the wind whipped in her face streaming her hair out behind her like a banner. The sun glistened off his sorrel mane, turning his hair into a sea of glistening diamonds. His hair tickled her face, and she couldn’t help laughing in shear joy.
The flashback only sent her into a new flood of tears. She had know that there would come a day when she would have to say goodbye. Would have to listen to everyone talk about “the right thing to do.” And would have to make that phone call that every owner dreads. She just didn’t expect it to be on Christmas eve. The funny part was that it hadn’t come on gradually as most arthritic induced lameness. His medicine had kept him sound for years; then, suddenly, about a month before he had gotten slightly stiff, and then severely so. She had tried everything. Expensive shots of glucosamine, aspirin, liniment, Bute and every natural remedy she could think of, but all to no avail.
So yesterday, Cheryl had made the call. Her old friend who had saved her life, and won her scholarships deserved so much better than pain. She was relieved when the Vet suggested they put it off until after Christmas. “I don’t want to ruin your Christmas,” he had said- if he only knew…. It was now only a matter of time. Cherly slowly led him back to his stall, and locked the barn for the night. It would be a very dreary Christmas.
Christmas morning dawned brightly, creating a blinding glare off newly fallen snow. As she walked into the barn she couldn’t help thinking, this is the last day. She heard his familiar nicker greet her as she rounded the corner to his stall, and she felt tears welling up in her already bloodshot eyes. But as she came around the corner, she noticed something seemed different about him. As she led him out, there was still creaking in his joints, and his step was still slow, but it wasn’t quite as wobbly, and his hind leg was no longer suspended in the air. If fact he looked quite a bit better. It wasn’t until then that she saw the note.
Merry Christmas! We were thinking about it, and decided that your horse could be lame because of his food. We remembered that you started feeding him oats and weight builder to fatten him up, and after talking to the vet, we found out that oats can irritate his insuline resistance. We didn’t want to get your hopes up, so we took him off grain without telling you. Up until this morning there didn’t seem to be a difference, but as you can see there is now. Perhaps it has something to do with Christmas. We took the liberty of canceling his appointment tomorrow. Love, Mom and Dad.
Cheryl stared at the note, and then at her horse in shock. She reread the note, and suddenly the last line hit her, “We canceled the appointment” The note fluttered to the ground and Cheryl’s arms were once more around his neck, his soft coat tickled her face and suddenly she was laughing and crying all at once. He wasn’t completely healed. It would be a long road, but it was a start. Her Christmas gift had been the best it could have been. No doubt there would come a day when she would have to say good bye, but today was not that day, and that was all that mattered!
*This story is based on a true one, for those of you who are curious. The horse’s name was Pepper.
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THE GIFT
"That will about do it,” Dominic said as he boxed up the remaining bolts and auto parts for James, a mechanic by trade. James and Dominic had become fast friends over the years, spending time talking cars, families and news over Dominic’s worn wooden counter of the shop he owned. “How was the funeral, by the way,” Dominic asked. James replied, “Oh, it was good--you know how much Cheri loved her aunt. Getting her started in horses and all.” Dominic smiled. “She still wants another one, huh?” James stared thoughtfully at the wall of tools and parts and replied, “Yeah. Her aunt left her some money, and it really worries me that she’ll get the old bug back and start looking to replace that crazy horse. Man, I sure hope not.”
Dominic nodded in sympathy. “The accident really messed her up. Almost paralyzed… I can see why you wouldn’t want to see her go there again. What’s it been-- five years now?”
“Almost six,” James replied. “But her back will never be right. She knows that, too, but every so often she asks about getting some ponies or old rescue horses, or a horse and buggy. Anything to be around horses…I don’t even like her donating her time to that horse shelter, but what can I do?” Dominic shook his head in agreement. What could you do about a horse loving woman?
Cheri was tall, with long wispy blonde hair, and beautiful hazel eyes that viewed the world around here with child like enchantment. She was like an elegant thoroughbred, lively and energetic with only a steady, pronounced limp to remind herself that she survived, but did not come out unscathed, the day that forever changed her life. While out riding her mare one fresh spring morning, the horse bolted in fear after a large deer nearly broadsided them, and they went end over end through barbed wire and roadside ditch. The mare was put down, and the long, painful recovery from her ruined back was made yet more difficult for Cheri for she knew she could never ride again.
“Hey, sweetie!” James called out as Cheri came in the door of their cozy home later that day. They had a nice little farmette on five acres, complete with mechanics shop, several sheds, and one painfully empty paddock. “Hi, you!” she replied, and after a quick kiss they spent some time talking about their day and then what to make for Thanksgiving dinner. The subject became holidays, then Christmas. “What would my princess like for Christmas this year?” James asked, hoping not to hear yet another plea of an equine nature. “Well, you know…but I guess I could settle for a new easel,” she said with a resigned tone in her voice. Then, brighter, “So what about for you, Mr. Has It All?” James pursed his lips, playfully dragged out the moment and then said, “Well, that Shelby Mustang would be nice….” “Oh really,” Cheri laughed, “Don’t hold your breath!” “Well, then what if you just cleaned out that half of the garage for me that has all your old stuff in it--that would be a great gift.”
Cheri thought to the carefully cleaned tack, the tack trunk and her saddles yet taking up space for no better reason than hard-to-let go memories of her and her lovely mare.
“Deal,” Cheri said. And with that, they made themselves a little cheerful fire in the woodstove as the leaves began to twirl about outside in the November breeze.
The weeks flew by, and once again James leaned on his elbows at Dominic’s Garage, shooting the breeze with his good friend. “Saw your wife over at the feed store the other day,” said Dominic. She was looking at the ad board. I kinda snuck up behind her to give her a hug, and she was staring at a photo ad. As in horse and buggy ad. Just thought you might like to know.”
Jim grimaced. His wife had received a pretty sum from her aunt, and there was little he could do but hope that she would not do anything rash…like buy another horse. “I don’t hate horses, Dom, I really don’t,” James said, “but I couldn’t handle another scare.”
“You may not like horses, James, but the fact is, she loves them as much as she loves you. I doubt she’d go behind your back, she’s not made that way. It’s just a shame, that’s all.”
James drove home slowly, and paused as he usually did in front of the vintage car lot that held the car of his dreams, a Shelby. A 1966 Sapphire Blue Mustang GT, gracefully restored with gold racing stripes sat staring back at him from gleaming headlights as if to say, “Not gonna be here forever, pal…what are you waiting for?” James drove on by and daydreamed about it for about the hundredth time, knowing full well the cost would really rock the boat financially. Still, it was fun to think about it. He pulled into his newly cleaned garage, and his brief feeling of guilt was erased as Cheri, in her usual cheerful way, bounced out of the door to greet him.
Christmas arrived on the blustery north wind, and the day promised to be a cold one, but the Christmas tree was aglow and as James and Cheri exchanged gifts with one another, they were happily chatting while admiring their presents. Cheri waited for last to open the large package, which held the new art easel. She had become quite the oil painter since her accident and beautiful horses shone from canvasses throughout the house. It’s wonderful, James, it is! Thank you!” With that, the doorbell rang, and it was Dominic who greeted them. “Hey, Merry Christmas!” James called out. “What brings you by?”
“Oh, I was just delivering a gift.” Because his hands were empty, James gave him a puzzled look and invited him in. “No, come on outside for a minute.” Cheri quickly pulled on a jacket and her boots, and tugged at James’ arm. “Come see!”
With a flourish, Dominic pulled up the garage door and there within was the Shelby GT. James could only stare at it, and then looked to Cheri and then to Dominic. “It’s yours, James! It’s all yours!” Cheri said with twinkling eyes. James thought to the inheritance money and a lump formed in his throat. “But why? All you wanted…you could have…,”he stuttered, then grew silent for words for he could not complete the sentence. Cheri glowed. “Because you love it. You love it, and I love you.” With that, Cheri dropped her arms around his neck and kissed her husband, who was still reeling from his gift. Dominic laughed and said, “You’re a lucky man!” James replied softly, “No, I am a blind one.”
Later, on a beautiful spring day, Dominic and James once again stood in James’ garage where the new carriage waited for the perfect horse to pull it. Dominic grew a lopsided grin and said, “When’s the birthday girl getting home?” James looked out the drive, and replied, “Don’t look now, but I think I’ll go get the Kleenex…here she comes.”
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STAR OF WONDER
Sarah Taylor zipped her jacket up and stuffed her hands in her pockets as she trudged slowly toward the barn. She flipped the lights on as she opened the door, her gelding, Charger gave a loud whinny when he saw her. “Hey boy,” she said pulling on a coat from the tack room. She grabbed a pair of reins off the rack. “You want to go for a ride, Charger?” she asked as she walked to his stall. He tossed his head, “Okay boy, I know it’s late but we have to check on the mares.”
Charger took the bit reluctantly at Sarah’s urging. She then lead him out and swung up on his back. Sarah turned him to the west and squeezed her legs against his sides. Charger took off at a trot. “Easy boy,” Sarah muttered. Charger was long trotting and it was hard for her to sit. Charger slowed to a nice smooth jog and Sarah settled down to enjoy the ride.
It was snowing lightly now and the wind had picked up. They were entering the woods and Sarah ducked to miss a low branch. It’s not far now she thought and so she let Charger lope in the valley which leads to the pasture. She slowed him to a walk before the deep snow. He labored through the snow and Sarah leaned low to help him through. Then she saw the mares, they were gathered around the round bale.
She rode among the mares and checked to see if they were all there. There were three bay mares standing by the feeder, the black mare was off to the left, the gray mare was behind the feeder. Three gray mares came trotting over at the sight of Charger. It was then that Sarah noticed the sorrel mare wasn’t with them and she was due first.
Sarah dismounted Charger to look on the ground for tracks. She found some leading to the creek. Quickly she mounted Charger and turned him toward the creek and pushed him into a lope. She slowed him to a walk after five minutes. They looked in the woods and then the tracks disappeared. Sarah glanced at her watch. It was almost eleven o’clock and she should be at home in bed by now. She could only hope her parents weren’t too mad, after all it was Christmas Eve.
Suddenly she heard a nicker and Charger’s head flew up, she turned him toward where the sound had come from. Sarah rode Charger up the hill and then she saw the mare; she was standing over a dark object. As Sarah got closer she saw it was foal. She quickly flew off Charger and like a good ranch horse he stood ground tied. The foal was a filly; she was cold but nuzzled Sarah’s hand. The mare’s muzzle touched Sarah’s back in a kind gesture. Sarah looked up at the mare and patted her neck. Sarah knew she had to get the filly home, and suddenly she wished she had saddled Charger. Maybe she could manage to put the filly up on Charger. After all she was small, and it was her only chance. She grabbed Charger’s reins and pulled him up closer, and then she wrapped her arms around the filly’s body and picked her up. Lucky the filly was small and Charger wasn’t too tall.
Sarah knew Charger wouldn’t mind. He had carried many calves and foals before. After several minutes of struggling and the mare waiting anxiously behind her she managed to put the filly up on Charger. Charger looked at the filly but showed no protest and so Sarah led him a couple steps. The mare followed closely behind. Then Sarah swung up behind the filly and wrapped her arms around the little filly. She didn’t protest and probably liked the warmth.
The pace was slow but Sarah didn’t want to risk the filly slipping and she didn’t want to test the mare’s strength. After a half hour they finally made it home, Sarah’s dad ran out into the yard when he saw her riding. “Sarah, where have you…” He stopped halfway when he saw the filly and the mare. “I knew she was getting close,” he muttered.
Then he helped Sarah take the filly off Charger and Sarah ran to get a couple of towels from the tack room. She then started rubbing the filly off with the mare watching over her shoulder. Sarah’s dad rubbed Charger down and put a blanket on him, and then he went to the feed room and mixed up a couple batches of bran mash. He gave one to Charger and one to the mare. Sarah had finished rubbing down the filly and it was then that she noticed that she was a beautiful blue roan and had a little white star on her forehead.
“Dad, let’s name her Star of Wonder, after all it’s a wonder she survived,” Sarah said, laughing as the filly nuzzled her hand.
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FIRST Place - Professional Poetry |
Kristen Reiter, DVM • Oak Harbor, WA |
Varmint Tumbleover Choir
Christmas Culprit
An assault has occurred this Christmas day.
We must call the crime lab right away,
For a man has been assailed out in our yard.
We must catch the culprit before he gets too far.
I don’t think we need to
Call the local CSI…
I believe we can solve this –
Just you and I.
First we assess the scene
For valuable clues,
Then we’ll know exactly
What we have to do.
Our victim’s frozen scared
From his head to his toes,
But his distinguishing feature is
He’s missing his nose!
There’s no gore and no blood,
His nose just isn’t there.
He must be in shock
Check out that blank stare.
His coal black eyes
Glare out into space.
They are round and unblinking
In his pale face.
Despite all he’s been through
He still wears a smile.
You think he’d be angry
After an action so vile.
He’s a bit disheveled
His scarf is untied
And the hat that he’s wearing
Is tipped to the side.
What could’ve happened
To this jolly old fellow?
And, why, I might ask
Is his demeanor so mellow?
There are footprints scattered
All over the ground.
They penetrate deep in the snow
Their shape is quite round.
Through ankle-deep snow
We follow the trail.
We will find the assailant.
It’s sure we can’t fail!
We follow the path
All the way to the stable.
The footprints, it seems,
Lead directly to Mabel.
Mabel, our pony
Kicked down the boards of her wall
And escaped undetected
From out of her stall.
She must’ve encountered
The man in the yard,
Detected his nose
And bit down quite hard!
For how else could he have
Lost his proboscis?
It certainly wasn’t a
Stray hippopotamus!
You can’t blame sweet Mabel though,
In fact, she deserves merit.
To be so determined
To track down that lone carrot.
For our victim, you see,
Was no Tom, Dick or Stan,
But rather he was our daughter’s
Christmas snowman!
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FIRST Place
- Senior Poetry |
Cindy Seng • Libertyville, IL |
Yuletide Wish
MOM'S CHRISTMAS TREE
Well, Mama says "Boys, I'm still lacking a tree,
Won't you go out in back and procure one for me?"
So they saddled up Candy and Sonny and Blue
They said, "Not comin' back 'til we find one for you!"
They galloped off briskly, the day was divine,
To chop down a tree that would surely be mine.
But they must have found something much better to do,
For skies they did darken, the hours they grew....
I doubt if they're lost, and I don't think they'd hide,
But I do think it wasn't my pine that they spied,
Got a feeling they're sharing some holiday cheer,
Those ponies tied up for some laughs and some beer...
I wish they'd come home! Why, we'd have a good chat!
(Before fanning them all with my ten gallon hat...)
Now I sit by my window and gaze past the fence,
'Cause I don't have my tree and I ain't seen 'em since!
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First Place - Intermediate Poetry |
Nolan Wilharm • Whitewater, WI |
A Wild Christmas Ride
Wintertime is always happy
For Christmas is in winter
And nothing beats a Christmas ride
So off we go, me and my appy.
On we raced against the wind
Fighting it all the way
I let him set the pace
He was leaving everything and everyone behind.
He senses that the barn was near
He puts on a burst of speed
This caught me off guard
I laughed, at times like this;
I think he should have been a deer.
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First
Place - Junior Poetry |
Hannah McDowell |
Beautiful Horse
No need to look at me.
No need to take a bow.
Because I am just a horse,
Who looks like an old cow.
My hooves are soft and white,
Although they are supposed to be hard and black.
My back is a large spoon,
dipping into a bowl of fat.
You can’t see my swollen eyeballs,
due to my huge plastic cone with a flap.
I can’t trust any people,
because I have been abused and slapped.
But one day this young, tiny girl,
With bruises on her face,
Came to my stall,
Wearing nothing but a thin shirt and lace.
She said quietly, “Dear horsey I love you so,
because you have been through the same case as I.”
“My horsesy horse,
No need to cry or sigh,
because I am going to take you home.”
Now I stand in great command,
But I listen to my girl.
Because she saved from from my life back then,
So I sit with her and twirl.
Christmas has finally come.
My girl lies with me in the radiant sun.
I am happy with my girl,
And I sit with her long curls.
You can look at me if you want,
you can take a bow if you wish
Because I now stand,
in my world I now call home.
Brushed and looking grand.
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First
Place - Pee Wee Poetry |
Megan Soboleski, Chicago, IL |
A Christmas Story
Under The Christmas Tree
Under the Christmas tree
I see glittering snowflakes on my window
In the shape of a horseshoe
They sparkle in the moonlight.
Under the Christmas tree
Decorated with shiny ornaments and
colorful lights
I see a horse cantering
With snowflakes in its long mane.
Under the Christmas tree
Enjoying my sweet hot chocolate
I watch the beautiful horses
Trotting down the snow covered road.
Under the Christmas tree
I hear the silver bells jingling
On the prancing horses
As they fill the winter air with glee.
Under the Christmas tree
I dream of Santa and presents
I’m wishing for a horse this year
A special horse to call my own.
Under the Christmas tree
I found my new blue ribbon horse
I must have been good this year
Santa really loves me!
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