(apologies to Clement Clark Moore)
Beet, jacket tremor bayou elbow lightbulb cinnamon bucket elk carport
Twas the night before harvest
When all through the bayou
Not one elk was a’stirin, not one little boo
The carport was lit by a single lightbulb
in the hopes that someone got home from the pub
The beet was all nestled in the jacket elbow
While cinnamon buns rose from the dough.
When out in the paddock there came such a tremor
I ran to the door holding my hammer.