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Not a creature was stirring, not even a bait.
My lures were slung up the creek everywhere,
In hopes that big trout soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my skiff,
Had just settled in for a short fishin' trip.
When out by the shore there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter.
Away to the gunnel I flew like a flash,
Reeled in my plug and threw toward the crash.
The sun on the surface of the slow-falling flow,
Gave the luster to all of the fish found below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature boat, with Santa (but not his reindeer).
With a little old angler, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it really was St Nick.
More rapid than mackerel his long casts they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Redfish! now, Trout! now, Spanish and Flounder!
On, Bluefish! On, Cobia! On Sheepshead and Mullet!
To the top of the creek! to the top of the bay!
Now catch away! Catch away! Catch away all day!"
He spoke not a word, but kept straight to his work,
And filled all the livewells, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, another slot redfish he caught with his rod!
He sprang to his seat, to his oars gave a whistle,
And away then he flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim as he rowed out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good bite!"
Merry Christmas, everybody!
Sincerely,
Will Harms
