Be ye, young or old,
as a child of nine or ninety-nine
We all look to the magical time
when ol' St. Nick comes a calling,
that jolly grey bearded man with a smile for all.
Traveling down the road in his horse drawn sled
from late dusk to early dawn.
The good ones know they'll be visited by him,
adorned and wreathed with gifts from
head to toe.
They will sleep a peaceful slumber, full
of dreams of the bright morning to come
and the presents they so richly deserve
from a year of being so very very good.
I am afraid some may not be so inclined
at this joyous holiday time to partake of
all this festive cheer.
For you see, there are some children who lay deep in their
covers under the shadow of night as it plays
through their cold window pane,
waiting for him to come,
St. Nicks dark brother, the Other,
called Krampus to some.
This dark horned, hairy tailed, cloven hooved creature
knows your heart of hearts
and all the naughty things you've done.
And he is not forgiving like
good ol' St. Nick.
With bundled birch sticks in hand
he will greet you with a sharped tooth grin
right before he lays into your
skin,
To beat you about the legs and arms,
a sweet painful present for all your
year's sins and wicked charms.
Then if you have been especially bad
and you know who you are.
He will take down his big black
ruck sack from upon his back
Open it up, grab you up
and stuff you in.
Then quick out the bedroom window
he flies to disappear down the dark road
with you never to be seen
by your family
ever again.
by Philip Wardlow 2014
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