Tales Of The Gurrier

The Bandy Santy

Down the chimney on backwards hands,
Comes the bandy Santyman.
Across the chimney breast he slithers,
His cape a smear in soot and feathers,
Coal black eyes and teeth like knives,
The Bandy Santy has arrived.

His lispy tongue is dark and slick,
And up your spine he wants to lick.
About his waist his beard is wound,
A greyish, ropey, hairy, hound.
His bandy sack is black and grim,
and terrible shapes move within.

Beware the Bandy Santy child,
He is not jolly, he is not mild.
And if he spies you out of bed,
His beard you’ll feel about your head.
Into the terrible bandy sack,
And then up across his bandy back.

And up and up the chimney pot,
Will be your swift and awful lot
For when he reaches near the top,
He’ll turn and fumble at the knot.
And down, and down the wretch will tumble
To land with all their bones a jumble.

So heed my tale, if you would,
And please be gentle, kind and good.
Or else the Bandy Santy call,
And to your end, you may fall…

…Merry Christmas all, from The Gurrier.

*Update: Illustration by the demonically talented Mr. Neil Struthers.

This entry was posted on Monday, December 22nd, 2008 at 11:40 pm and is filed under Doggerel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.