H 58 The Saga of Santa Odin
                            William Tate Dec 89
Spoken To The Tune Of
'Twas the night before Christmas

'Twas the night before Yule and through the meadhall
Not a Viking was stirrin', nor even a thrall.
Helmets and swords were hung by the hearth with care,
In hopes that Santa Odin would soon be there.

The huscarls were snoring, passed out from the booze
And I thought I'll get a little shuteye, just a little snooze.
So in my chainmail, with axe and shield in hand,
I slept with one eye open 'gainst marauding bands.

When out in the stead's yard there arose such a noise,
I thought, "Grendel is here, better wake up the boys!"
Out from my high seat I flew like a flash,
Kickin' open the hall's door with a resounding crash.

O'erhead the moon sparkled, glinted and gleamed;
Must've been a nasty, mead-induced dream.
When what to my wondering eyes should I see,
But a Gokstad sled pulled by eight Valkyrie.

With a little old driver, so lively and beholdin',
I knew at that moment, it must be Santa Odin!
Swift as a hunger'd carrion bird those wing-helmed women came,
And Odin cussed and he shouted and he called them nasty names. 

"Hey Stupid! Hey Dopey! Hey Dirtbag and Greazy!
On Dummy! On Idiot! On Slimeball and Sleazey!
Go hard to the left! Now hard to the right!
C'mon get it straight, or we'll be here all night!"

As fear-numbed Saxons run from a blood-crazed beserk,
The sled made for the roof with a sickening lurch.
To the roost of the birds the Wild Hunt did fly;
The arrival of Santa Odin was nigh!

Then over my head I heard combat boots tread,
With noise enough to wake up the dead.
And as I headed in and had just turned around,
Santa Odin fell from the roof with an "Oof!" sound.

He was dressed all in black, 'cept for his floppy blue hat.
And was enormous in girth; Man! was he fat!
Across his back was a sack of gleaming bright toys,
That clanged with a most delightful, clamorous steel noise.

His eye - just the one! Glowed from under bushy brow.
His nose jutted forth like a dragonship prow.
His wiry great beard was stained dingy yellow.
He was a frightfully scary looking fellow.

His snaggletoothed mouth was drawn twisted in a grin.
His glazed-over look told he'd been nipping the gin.
Aloud I then laughed, for a god he wasn't that great,
And he glared at me evilly; I thought I'd just sealed my fate.

But he spoke not a word, and went straight to his work,
Leaving sharp pointy things for each and every jerk.
Then rearing up a leg, he let out some gas,
And flew up the smokehole in a rapid little flash.

He jumped in his sled, slapping hard with the reins,
Leaving the snow covered in Valkyrie bloodstains.
The team jumped off the roof, what an amazing sight!
And away they all flew off into the night.

But he bellowed out loudly before he got too small,
"Merry Yule to you now, but see you in Valhall!"