The Night Before Crimmus
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the YWAM house
The pigeons were stirring, and also probably a mouse;
The coffee was brewed in the kitchen with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The racers were nestled all snug in their bunk-beds;
While visions of pigeons flying through their room danced in their heads;
And little Sarah in her eye mask, and Hanny in her sleep dress,
Had just settled their minds for a long winter’s rest,
When out on the street there arose such a clatter,
Hanny sprang from her bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window she flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The street lights shining on the new fallen dog poop,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects in the street loop,
When what to her sleepy eyes did appear,
A small army of pigeons drawing near.
Hanny, so lively and quick,
Ran back to the room to wake Jada and Mallory with a lick.
They sat on the street, and coo’d their displeasure,
We knew that our little kitchen could never measure.
As Jada awoke she became aware,
That our Venezuelan Grandpa was in his underwear.
He marched down the stairs, hair in a tuft,
He hollered to the pigeons “That is enough!”
Tried they might,
they were not staying with us on that night.
As they flew away toward the sea,
Hannah Beth turned on the kitchen light with glee.
She was standing in the kitchen, unaware,
Of the wildness of the night that had happened there.
Little Hannah rose from her rest,
Surprised by the commotion, viewing the situation in jest.
As we all entered the kitchen, I gazed upon the wall,
Upon the cabinet, a young mother pigeon started to bawl.
She cried as she stood, revealing to us her two small eggs,
She sang us a song of desperation as she begs.
Upon hearing this, our Venezuelan Grandpa entered the kitch,
With a small blanket to accommodate her niche.
“This Christmas, we will house two more,
For the heart of a Venezuelan Grandpa is to adore.”
If you hear the cry of a young pigeon mother, and that you might,
Share with her the heart of a Venezuelan Grandpa and tell her, “Happy Christmas to all, and
to all a good night!”
This didn’t actually happen, but we do have a pigeon mother + family living in our kitchen. Her name is mama June, we haven’t named the eggs. If you have any suggestions, shoot them my way!
