Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the site
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mite.
The stockings were hung by the modems with care,
In hopes that St Gypsy soon would be there.
The Hippies were nestled all snug by their grows,
While visions of sugar-buds gleamed for their shows.
And the ladies in smart pots, and I in my cap,
Had just settled - post-solstice - for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I knocked over my bubbler, but claimed "it's no matter!"
Away to the window I flew with my stash,
Tore open the shutters and puffed on some hash!
The HID beams of light from the fresh planted grow
Gave the lustre of spring sunshine, to the seedlings below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Gypsy on a sleigh, with eight Mods in the rear.
With a little old pH meter, so accurate and quick,
I thought for a moment, could this be be St Nick?
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Esbe! now, Paddi! now, dubi and Sleepy!
On, oldpink! On, KG!, on BENJI and DG!
To the top of the vent stack, up top of the growroom,
Now dash away! Dash away! And tonight, PLEASE take no mushrooms!
As leaves that before the hash station did lay,
When they meet with the water, and the resins would play
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of seed packs, and St Gypsy did too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The incessant praises SOTF had for his fave bud, the Sweet 'toof!
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Gypsy came with a bound.
He was dressed all in Green, from his head to his socks,
And his clothes were all tarnished with roach burns from hot rocks,
A bundle of bongs he had flung on his back,
With colas and dense nugs sticking out from the sack.
His eyes- how damn bloodshot - his temperament how merry!
His smelled just like rose-bud, or was it AK (pheno Cherry?)
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
As he hit from his glass pipe - filled not with water but snow!
The stump of the pipe he held tight in his teeth,
As he smoked, he blew smoke rings that looked like a wreath.
He had a shaved head and and broad build; just a hint of a belly
but he laughed and he giggled, and smoked us on jelly!
He was jolly and stoned, a right example of himself,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye , he looked down at the plant beds
Soon gave me to know that he'd not steal my lock- dreads.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a smirk
when he noticed we'd left hash that t'was melty by the fire,
he hit it like a fiend, and up the chimney did retire!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a stoned-night!"
Merry Solstice ICmaggios, whatever the holiday you celebrate... here's to pushing the movement even further in 2011.
We've come a long way in the past 15 years, let's keep sticking it to 'em and get this plant legal for once and for all.
Worldwide cannabis freedom, nothing less!!!!
Many happy harvests to all,