Be ye, young or old,

as a child of nine or ninety-nine

We all look to the magical time

when ol’ St. Nick comes a calling,

that jolly grey bearded man with a smile for all.

Traveling down the road  in his horse drawn sled

from  late dusk to early dawn.

The good ones know they’ll be visited by him,

adorned and wreathed with gifts from

head to toe.

They will sleep a peaceful slumber, full

of dreams of the bright morning to come

and the presents they so richly deserve

from a year of being so very very good.

I am afraid some may not be so inclined

at this joyous holiday time to partake of

all this festive cheer.

For you see, there are some children who lay deep in their

covers under the shadow of night as it plays

through their cold window pane,

waiting for him to come,

St. Nicks dark brother, the Other,

called Krampus to some.

This dark horned,  hairy tailed, cloven hooved creature

knows your heart of hearts

and all the naughty things you’ve done.

And he is not forgiving like

good ol’ St. Nick.

With bundled birch sticks in hand

he will greet you with a sharped tooth grin

right before he lays into your

skin,

To beat you about the legs and arms,

a sweet painful present for all your

year’s sins and wicked charms.

Then if you have been especially bad

and you know who you are.

He will take down his big black

ruck sack from upon  his back

Open it up, grab you up

and stuff you in.

Then quick out the bedroom window

he flies to disappear down the dark road

with you never to be seen

by your family 

ever again.

by Philip Wardlow 2014