Blastoff to Adventure
Timmy was a bottle-rocket
Ready to explode:
Twenty-five days before that day—
He anticipated quite the load
Of presents red and green and blue
Underneath the tree:
Twenty-five days until the day
He’d finally get to see.
He wanted a fire truck of bright red
With swirling flashing lights:
Oh, if I could get just that ONE toy
I’d jump up in delight.
Timmy sat down every night
To write Santa a note:
I’ve been so good, just as I should
The end of all he wrote.
Oh Santa please won’t you bring
Red fire truck of delight?
Then he’d lay awake in bed, count sheep in his head
Aglow in hope and his night light.
He’d barely slept eight or nine winks
Before he’d get up to add:
And Santa if you don’t have one of those
Could you tell my mom and dad?
He knew just knew it was destiny
That he would get this truck:
He’d been good as he should and such stuff
He knew he’d have good luck.
Somewhere someone must’ve told Timmy
You know, son, I think you’re missing the point:
But Timmy only had ears to hear about
That firetruck that would anoint
His new leash on life,
His sudden gathering of friends,
Everything he’d prayed for
At beginning of day and day’s end.
Christmas came, as Christmas does,
And celebration was ignited:
Timmy was nowhere to be found
In the litter of paper in which his siblings delighted.
Problem was that Timmy got tired
Waiting for his presents to come:
And on that day he’d waited for,
To sleep he did succumb.
Did Timmy get the fire truck
With siren that did glow?
Oh, gentle reader, I don’t think
We ever will really know.
And maybe the question is wrong
Like 2 plus 2 equals five:
Did Timmy ever learn the real Christmas tale
About Jesus being born alive?
Not sirens but the singing of angels,
Not shiny plastic but musty manger bed,
A mom and a dad, the Son of God they’d had:
Who one day’d give new meaning to red.
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