An Author’s Lament
By Callie Hutton
‘Twas the night before Christmas,
And the author said ‘damn’
I need to get this book
Into my publisher’s hands
Her children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While she got two aspirins for the pain in her head,
Mama in her kerchief and papa in his cap,
She hoped this last revision would be but a snap
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
She hopped from her laptop to see what the hell happened now!
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Gave a luster of midday to objects below,
When what to her wondering eyes should appear
But her hero dressed as Santa without any beard−or shirt
His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples how cool!
His cheeks were like roses, his chest made her drool
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Fixing the scene where she’d made him a jerk,
And laying his finger under her chin,
He gave her a kiss as wicked as sin,
He sprang to his horse, to his horse gave a whistle,
And left her alone with nothing but sizzle.
But she heard him exclaim, ere he rode out of sight
Get your ass back to work, it will be a long night.