‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the valley
There was no roadkill, no food for the galley (bah humbug – buzzards don’t have galleys!)
The stockings were hung by the old Carson place
In hopes that Mercedes or Jag would meet Rudolph grille-to-face
The children were shivering huddled close in the nest
While they dreamed of fresh roadkill, a bloody highway fest’
And mamma with her worries, I decided no issue to make,
Had just settled in for what was to be a night with nary a brake,
When out on the interstate, the sound of hoofbeats grew suddenly loud
I sprang from the branch and flew on over, in hopes of a cloud (of smoke that is).
There were sirens and tow trucks and a million shards of safety glass,
There were cops with white gloves urging the rubber-neckers to pass.
I blinked once and then twice Oh my word could it be?
I circled again and again and finally lit on a tree
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a wreck between a Hummer and an Escalade, and ten dead reindeer!
Emotions were high, blame was flying around, feelings were bent
The steam from the corpses was a heavenly scent
More rapid than eagles o’er the valley they came,
They whistled, they shouted, as they sang His sweet name;
It was truly a miracle, a story one could not possibly make up
His provision was more than plenty, overflowing was the buzzard’s cup
To the top of the fir tree! to the top of town hall!
Come all you buzzards, come one come all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
The sheer number of buzzards blackened the sky,
From every draw and every hollow, the buzzards they flew,
They brought all their friends and relatives too.
And then, in a twinkling, The herd of reindeer turned black
Feathers flew, flesh was ripped, oh how the beaks did smack.
The humans had left, the birds had to work fast
To beat the city workers who would show up signaling their last (bite of course)
(Forget the next part about a fat little old man named ‘Nick
Cause he’s just not real – he’s a fable – a trick)
It was a feast never to be equaled, the buzzards feasted the whole night
The utility workers had taken a personal day and were nowhere in sight
Every buzzard in the valley had fresh roadkill, sweet dreams and peace
Merry Christmas to all, to God be the glory and to all a good roadkill night!