It's the night before Christmas, we're out in the barn,
Blanketing mules to keep them all warm,
They're eating their dinners, tucked in cozy stalls,
Not aware that it's Christmas, or any special day at all.
They can dream of spring pastures from their pine-scented beds,
No visions of sugarplums dance in their heads,
But we people are thinking of merry parties and such,
Maybe feeling a little sad at missing so much.
This season is special but the mules don't know,
We've got work to do before we can go,
We finish the chores and head on inside,
To get ready for dinner and our own yuletide.
It's nearly midnight, the carols are sung,
I remember a story I was told when I was young,
How at midnight on Christmas Eve,
The creatures of the barnyard can speak to us with ease.
I am called to the barn, I wade through the rain,
I know I must go, I can't really explain,
I slide open the door, pause for a while,
Then slowly walk down the dimly lit aisle.
2007-12-23
15:14:48
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30 answers
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asked by
Mulereiner
7