Old St. Nick Had a Crick
T'was the day before Christmas, but here was no cheer,
No jingle bells jingled. No sound of reindeer.
The word had got out that Santa was sick.
There'd be no friendly visit from a sick, St. Nick.
The people were sad, no gaitey sounded.
For Christmas had come, but Santa was grounded.
He walked up Washington Street and what should he see?
On a window was painted, "Brian Roscoe, DC".
Now Santa was not one to like a new tactic.
But Mrs. Claus suggested he try chiropractic.
In a very short time (to judge by the clock),
He was in the adjustment room, talking to Doc.
"It must be the hurry, the tension, and all.
I simply can't seem to get on the ball.
Life used to be easy, just toys, games and whistles.
Now I have to dodge fall-out, space ships and missles."
"And Doc, take a look at the size of this pack!
Have you any idea what it does to my back?"
Poor Santa was miserable, just barely able
With the help of the doctor, to get on the table.
The doctor was gently. Without fuss or tussle
He examined the vertebrae and relaxed the muscles.
He spotted the trouble, and then with a click,
Started aligning the ailing St. Nick.
Santa felt aches and pains slipping away,
In no time at all he began feeling gay,
His cheeks were rosy with a new found glow,
And a healthy Kris Kringle was rarin' to go.
As he went out the door, he threw Marcia a kiss.
Why, it had been centuries since he'd felt good as this!
Then once more he shouldered the bag ful of toys,
His heart overflowing with true Christmas joys.
May the season fill your spirit with it's essence. May all the wonder of the holiday and magic of Christmas be yours. We thank you for being part of our family.
Merry Christmas -
Doc and Marcia