Poem

Poem



THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the Jail
The Inmates on Telephones
tried to raise bail.
Songs were not sung
and smiles were rare.
Saint Nick would get a black eye if
he showed his face in there.
The prisoners all tucked away
in there beds..
With nightmares of search warren ts,
police dogs and Feds.
I jumped from my bunk
from a loud noise
What's up outside,So I woke up
the boys.
We looked into spotlights eyes squinting
from the glare.
There stood poor Santa,
with his hands in the air.
The old man gave up with out so much,
as a struggle.
The last I heard he got
three years for smuggling.