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The Night Before Axemas


The Night Before Axemas

Twas the night before Axemas, and all through the bunker
Not a creature was stirring, in the foxholes they hunkered.


The caltrops were strewn by the chimney with care,
In the fear Father Axe soon would be there.
The children were armed and alert in their beds,
Afraid of their chances of losing their heads.
Mama in her armour, and I with my spear,
Had settled ourselves in for the long night of fear.
When out on the lawn there arose such a roar,
I rushed to the entrance, to shoulder brace the door.
Away from the door I flew with a groan,
As old Father Axe smashed it aside with a frown.
More rapid than lightning ‘cross the hallway I fled,
He bellowed foul curses at the children, abed.
A bundle of heads was flung on his back,
And he looked like a butcher, drenched in blood drying black.
His eyes, how they bulged, his nose lumpen and red,
And his long beard was stained with the blood of the dead.
He had a cruel laugh, which he laughed as he came,
And a stamp of spiked boots that have left children lame.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his slaughter,
And filled up the room with entrails and laughter.
And laying one finger aside of his nose,
He knotted some rope and advanced with a noose.
The claymores exploded, the mantraps were sprung,
And I got some shrapnel lodged in my left lung.
He turned and retreated, and took to his sleigh,
And left us that night, to seek easier prey.
But I heard him exclaim, as we collapsed in our beds,
“I’ll be back next year, and I WILL TAKE YOUR HEADS!”


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