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Just for fun.

Twas the month before Christmas and all through the shop, nothing was stirring, the work had stopped.
The sticks were lined up by the work bench with care
In hopes that the carver soon would be there.

The tools were all sharpened and snug on the bench with mallets and strops on the wall just a head.
And the helpers were waiting in their kerchiefs and caps to work on all the handles and staffs.

Then on the porch there arose such a clatter,
The carver was coming to work on what mattered.

A jolly old man so lively and quick, it was but a moment and he was calling for sticks.
Now walnut! Now cedar, Now hickory and pine!
Then holly! Then chestnut! Then woods of all kinds!

Chips were flying and falling like snow. He was dressed in denim from his head to his toes,
Wearing an apron, glasses on his nose, His eyes--how they twinkled!
His dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly, that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old man. He laughed as he carved the stick in his hand.
With the wink of his eye and a twist of the wrist, a new carved stick is checked off his list.

This was his action from morning to night and then he sprang to his feet and to his team gave a whistle then they turned out the lights.
The carver was heard to say as he left for the night, a stick for all we will have at Christmases first light.
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