Christmas Eve 2030
I'm not quite sure how long ago it chanced,
Or if it even really happened—
My mind has aged so dreadfully—
But, in any case I remember quite an alien day.
It was a Christmas eve, cold, snowy, and starry.
Standing out about the lopsided banks, our cheeks all red,
I recall singing a strange carol: "Hark the Herold Angel Sings,"
I believe it was called.
But Grampa that sounds like nonsense.
I only know "Hark the Cell Phone Rings."
I mean, are you sure this really happened,
Or are you just telling jokes?
I assure you, It's all true.
After singing this strange carol,
I remember walking slowly home—sauntering they called it—
Just taking in the stars and the smell of Christmas.
No, no grampa! People don't walk. Only babies do that,
And old men.
Everyone else runs. No, no, I don't believe you.
Fine, I'll listen though.
I got home to meet my family,
Eating a modest meal at the table,
Remembering the year and talking about the merry times,
And the not so merry times—toasting to both.
Wait! You didn't open presents! That's madness!
And why was your family at your house? You coulda' just called them,
Or at least texted, or something.
Grampa this is the weirdest story you ever told.
Yes, it is, and no, we didn't open presents.
Now listen up. This is where the story gets really strange.
We sat by a roaring fire, warming our feet and listening to poems.
My Grampa would always read us poems 'till bed. Sometimes we'd even have candy.
Wait a second! You sat by a fire and listened to poems?
Where's the action? And why didn't you open presents yet.
I'm sure there were some good shows on TV.
Wait?! Is that the end!? You just went to bed!?
Yep, pretty strange isn't it?
I told you it was a little out of the ordinary,
But you know what?
I loved it.