Cliff Notes...

 

 

 

Presented by popular demand:

 

The Christmas Turnip 

by the Turnipmeister

 

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,

nothing was stirring, not even a turnip.

 

Stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

in hopes that by morning they would be dry enough to wear.

 

The veggies all trembled, they knew what would come,

except for the turnip, it was too dumb.

 

Then out in the kitchen, there arose such a clatter, 

the carrots bunched up and cried, "Whatever's the matter?"

 

A stillness descended and all you could hear, 

was the sharpening of knives and the mixing of batter.

 

When and old fat man with nary a hair on his head,

came into the kitchen still sleepy from bed

 

After his hands had been washed and his pants all hitched up,

the knives began flashing and greens piling up.

 

And before you knew it, all sliced and lined up,

was the belle of the garden, the regal turnip.

 

I know your sorry it's over, I know how you feel,

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good meal.

 

Shalom,

Cliff Caton

(aka The Turnipmeister)