Back, by popular demand, is the annual yuletide poem. Merry Christmas to all.
‘Twas four days before Christmas, and out on the Prairies,
The folks had elected some Tom, Dick and Marys
To govern their fair land and run the wheat board.
So they turned their attentions far from that, and toward
Some thoughts about farming and the year that had been
And whether 2000 was the worst they had seen.
They thought about rallies held in that past winter,
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Of protests and sit-ins and farm groups of splinter.
There was drought, there was rain, there were monoliths for grain,
Many elevators came down, many questioned the drain
On money and culture, on small town rapport.
In Saskatchewan came the Garcea report.
The Sask. folks, they rallied to assess what they had.
They stopped amalgamation, thinking too much was bad.
Meanwhile the cowboys asked what in tarnation
Was this brand new program called national identification?
Tag our cows! they exclaimed, as the rules came to light,
We’d as soon sit and ponder the British guys’ plight.
Oh Schmeiser! Oh, Vanclief! Oh Romanow and Larsen!
And Goodale and Stock Day and Schmirler and Parsons!
To the top of the headlines in the favored farm paper
Those names made their way with their life, death and capers.
Then the farmers, they thought about crop yield and prices
Of chicks, cattle and hogs and of man-made devices.
Of new winter, that swept with cold snowy wrath
And cocooned the Prairies in white aftermath.
They pondered it all as the year left their sight
But knew in their hearts that their future stayed bright.
Next year country, they say, is the farmers’ true place.
Merry Christmas to all, and a friendly embrace.
