12/25/2024
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all down the Strand, Not a seagull was stirring, no footprints in the sand.
The stockings were hung by the pier with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The locals were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of ocean waves danced in their heads.
And I in my flip-flops, with sunscreen in hand,
Had just settled down for a winter so grand.
When out on the boardwalk, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my condo to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, I flew like the breeze,
Tore open the shutters, and smelled salty seas.
The moon on the crest of the Atlantic so bright,
Gave the luster of midday to Myrtle Beach night.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a golf cart sleigh and eight pelicans near!
With a jolly old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than sea breezes, his pelicans came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Now Sunny! Now Shellie! Now Wave and Breezy!
On Sandie! On Tidal! On Surf and Easy!
To the top of the SkyWheel, to the top of the tide,
Now dash away, dash away, let’s take a ride!"
As seashells that twirl in a hurricane fly,
The pelicans soared through the Carolina sky.
So up to the rooftop the feathery crew flew,
With a sleigh full of treasures—and Santa Claus too.
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The flapping and squawking of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his feet,
His clothes trimmed with sand, looking festive and neat.
A sack full of seashells he flung on his back,
And he looked like a tourist who’d just unpacked.
His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks like the sunset, his nose like a cherry.
His sun-kissed skin told of days by the shore,
And his jolly old laugh made my spirits soar.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
Filling stockings with saltwater taffy and a smirk.
Then laying a finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his golf cart, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
“Merry Christmas, Myrtle Beach, and to all a good night!”
