Happy Holidays!!!

[mrerick]

THE NIGHT BEFORE PERRY

by MRERICK with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore
and Henry Livingston

'Twas the night before Perry, when throughout the range

All the shooters were resting, the lull was quite strange;

The targets were hung by the berms with great care,

In hopes that their centers would soon not be there;

Projectiles were nestled all snug in their brass,

With visions of flying quite straight and real fast;

And our coach in a 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down in the sling's tightened strap,

When out on the line there arose such a clatter,

I sprang up from prone to see what was the matter.

Up from the line I flew like a flash,

Put down my rifle and gathered my stash.

The moon on the base of the firing berm

Gave the lustre of mid-day to the targets in turn,

Then in front of my squinting sore eyes there appeared,

But a miniature bulls-eye, and eight holes to the rear,

With five in the “X”, so centered and fine,

I knew in a moment it must not be mine.

More rapid than eagles in flight more shots came,

And each whistled, and spun, and left in a flame;

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

To the gut of the target! Midway up the wall!

Now blow away! blow away! blow away all!"

With the cart full of gear and sack of loose brass...

I looked up and “Gunny” was cycling fast!

The aiming was steady, the muzzle spoke proof

That this was the one to beat, that's the truth!

He was dressed all in camo, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with powder and soot;

A bundle of rifles he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a predator opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they focused! his gaze was quite scary!

Not a bit bogus, this king of Camp Perry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the cheek by his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a shell he held tight in his teeth,

And the gun-smoke encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face that surveyed all he's seen,

And muscles that showed hours of workout routine.

He was tall and direct, and quite sure of himself,

And I cringed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had something to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And back to the line; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his trigger,

And giving a nod, he seemed to grow bigger;

He shot once again, 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,

"Good Shooting Tomorrow, and to all a good-night."

[nukem556]

Gee, I guess I was on Viale while all that was happening on Rodriguez.....