Another tribute to hockey moms and dads, ice ponds, flood lights and kids that refuse to come in from the cold until they are forced to. You just have to love this time of year... snow on the pines, crisp air, goofy knitted hats. That, or just move your butt down to Florida and stop complaining. Seriously though... Merry Christmas!
Sung to the tune of "The Christmas Song"
(Chestnuts roasting by an open fire)
Ice skates drying by an open fire,
Frost bite claiming your small toes,
Knee pads hung over top of a wire,
And kids dressed up like their heroes.
Everybody knows, a freshly-shoveled frozen pond,
Keeps them out until twilight,
Shooting pucks until mouths start to yawn,
Means they will stay asleep tonight.
They know that Santa's on his way,
He's loaded lots of sticks and jerseys on his sleigh,
And number "ninety-nine" is what they'll see,
When they spot Gretzky's sweater hung by the tree.
And so I'm making you this simple plea,
As children grow from year to year,
Cherish these times and the fond memories,
And a Very Merry Christmas, to thee.
Copyright P. Wortham 2005
