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Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the shop,
Nothing was moving, not even a mop.
My workbenck sat, so empty and bare,
In hopes that St. Nicholas, soon would be there.

The V-Stroms were nestled, all snug on there racks,
With visions of happy riders, all perched on there backs.
While I in my greasy levies, with Jim Beam and Coke,
Had just settled down, for a drink and a smoke.

When down in the parts room, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair, to see what was the matter.
Away to the shop, I flew like an ace,
Tripped over the cat, and fell on my face.

I stifled a curse, meant for Triumph the cat,
And muttered to no one, I ment to do that.
Then what do my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Zuki-built sleigh, and eight chrome reindeer.

With flat track racer driving, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment, it must be ST. Nick.
More rapid than Hondas, onward they came,
And he revved the motor twice, and called them by name.

On Suzuki! On Kawasaki! Montesa and Elsinore!,
On Rupp and Indian and Harley go more.
To the top of the motorcycle, accessory wall,
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all.

As dry leaves behind, a V-Strom fly,
When they meet with a tree, reaching to the sky.
So in through the window, the coursers they flew,
With a sleigh full of goodies, and ST. Nicholas too.

And then outside the bike shop, I saw on the blacktop,
The prints in the snow of each dualsport Dunlop.
As I drew a deep breath, and was turning around,
From beneath the work bench, came St. Nick with a bound.

He was dressed like a biker, from head to foot,
Leather and chains, he looked like a coot.
A bundle of saddle bags, he had hung from his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes like Halogens, and dimples how merry,
His cheeks like roses, nose like a cherry.
His droll little mouth, drew up like a handlebar,
And his beard so white, it could be seen from afar.

He pulled on a pipe, that hung loose from his mouth,
Standing next to a VEE, I had found down south.
He had a broad face, and belly abound,
It shook like a rim, that was out of round.

He was chubby and plump, a jolly old chap,
He looked funny to me, in all that leather crap.
A wink of his eye, as he passed near the door,
Soon let me know, I would have farkels galore.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
He filled all the luggage racks, then turned with a jerk.
And leaving a WEE, he found on E-Bay,
And giving a nod, returned to his sleigh.

He picked up the reigns, blew two times on his horn,
And away they all flew, my feelings were torn,
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
Merry Christmas to all, Keep on riding, good night.
 

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1,948 Posts
Bravo,Bravo. Well said handyhiker....:-D

Thats the best rendition I've heard so far....:-D
 

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Administrator
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17,529 Posts
Excellent!!!!!!!
My version would replace "Jim Beam" with "Makers Mark". :)
I can vouch for that!!!!!;) Yes....that was an AWESOME Christmas poem, you have quite the talent!
 

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4,454 Posts
Absolutely excellant. My first chuckle of the day. Thanks.
 

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181 Posts
Excellent!!!!!!!
My version would replace "Jim Beam" with "Makers Mark". :)
I second that motion. Either Makers Mark or Crown Royal. Merry Christmas Strommers!
 
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