by Larry Powell
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the land
global warming was here.
It was grand! It was grand!
Cars would start!
Ice would melt!
Folks wore their light clothes!
While up through their chimneys mere wisps of smoke rose!
On the air one could hear mindless broadcasters say,
"It's seven degrees. Hope this thaw lasts 'til May!"
But up at the pole it was not Santa's day.
Two of his reindeer had just passed away. Dasher and Dancer
had sadly drowned while playing with mates confined to the
ground.
There was a river they could normally cross
but its ice had grown thin in the tenuous frost.
So the two were not helped by the fact they could fly
and the deep, clear water is where they did die.
The Great Bears of the north met similar ends just as learned scholars did portend.
Christmas day dawned - but alas, 'twas not white!
Lawns were brown - fields were black. It just didn't seem right!
The skis and toboggans the kids had received
were soon tossed aside just like old Christmas trees.
"The moon on the crest of the new-fallen snow
gave the lustre of midday to objects below."
But scant decades from now when these words are intoned....
will their image be real..........................or merely a poem?
