1944

'Tis the time, 'tis the season For a bit of rhyme, a touch of reason;

Time to hear of joy and cheer And things that warm the cockles, Of hearts and flowers, beds and bowers Of all us mortals and jockles.

(But: all the while we touch and smile. We'll not forget so many - Water and bread, a roof, a bed Alas, they haven't any.)

Our mail is full, or so it seems, Of catalogues from the L.L Beans Of Freeport, Maine, way Down East, Take a look at the scrumptious feast.

What we really want to do is Send a tent to C. Rick Lewis. A wooly sweater would be fine, man, Pick a color for Wilbur Reinman. A bright blue jacket, modern Gore-Tex, Just the thing for Larrabee, called "X." Rabassas, too, Greg and Clem, Buckskin gloves for the likes of them. Give them now, don't wait till later, Corduroy jeans for Robert Rader. Flannel slacks for the snappy dresser, Upstate New York's Richard Lesser. The sunny Penningtons, nothing neater, A raft, by gar, for Howie and Alita. All the Petersons, a camping seat, For A1 and June, Pat and Pete. What'll it be for the Richard Pleasants, Bookends of fish, or a brace of pheasants? A trouser, sir, not fat nor skinny To fit the form of Gene M. Kinney. A quart canteen or a wine decanter, Just the trick for Richard Kanter. An anorak is quite the symbol, Put one aside for Warren Kimball. Nordic ski hats are a sure win, Check the size for Richard Kerwin. There you are, a red Swiss knife, Great for John LaBounta and his wife. In truth, forsooth, we would as- fain Reserve a vest for William Paine. Bean's oxford shirts would be just swell Upon the bod of Bob Purnell. Hudson blankets fulfill the needs And warm the toes of the William Feads. A moccasin, in tan, of course, For Harry and John and Malcolm Morse,Richard, too, and for Robert Hyde A tundra boot to wear with pride. Not chess, nor checkers, it's backgammon To test the skill of Joseph Dammann. A camera bag is what we've heard Is under the tree for John C. Bird. A Hatteras hammock, fit as a fiddle, Just the ticket for David Little. Flannel sheets, warm and nice, To adorn the beds of Mark L. Peisch.

For the Stephensons, Ellie and Jack, Red suspenders, front and back. No need to be a Mister Spend-Bigs, A boot's a kick for good Chuck Rendigs. Sure as sure, there's a friend'll Send a boat to Arthur Kiendl.

There it is, from nuts to soups, No place for any party-poops As we sing of Bethlehem, Our lovely ladies, we handsome men

Ah, the world spins, losses and wins, Facts and figures and guessings; Coast to coast, we're luckier than most And give thanks, for ourselves, and our blessings.

That's it. MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Lovejoy Hill Cornish Flat, NH 03746