Come sit around and understand that this is all true
As I tell of a special solstice that may have happened to you
The mundane’s have their lights, all hung up so pretty
But they’ll never have a Society Christmas, oh it’s such a pity

Now in this little tale, Sally woke with a start
Her parents played bagpipes, but Dad ruined his part.
She ran down the stairs, falling on shields of various shapes
To stare on at the tree decked all over in silver duct tape.
Born hundreds of years in the past, Sally had to stop and think
Why are all of my toys swords, instead of dollies dressed in pink?

Crumbs replaced cookies she’d placed for jolly St. Nick,
And her older siblings laughed at the late night schtick.
But oh! Sally was so sad that the cookies weren’t there anymore
She’d had such fun decorating them in all shades of gules, vert and Or.

“Time for the event!” cried her mother from the top of the stairs
“Remember to dress nice for their majesties and heirs!”
They all raced up the steps, wondering where their garb could have gone
Why is so wrinkled?! Has it really been that long?
Where is my belt? They asked, Is it under the cabinet?
No it’s not - check the bathroom - oh there I found it!

After couple of bruises, and being a half hour late
They were off, they were ready, but at Fry’s had to wait
Mom freaked the mundanes as she stood in the line
They gawked and they whispered, unused to our kind
Finally they made it, on perfectly acceptable SCA time
They had to pay extra, because their cards they couldn’t find

The first court was a blast, and the traditions went on and on
The old farts bickered on who got the stories right, and who got them wrong
Anyways they said! On to the rest, and the best of the best
The feast was great as they chowed down on vlamboozels
And drank from their horns, concoctions of RUMboodle
Once everyone was comfy, fat and perfectly warm
The first of the gift numbers was called - and the hands went up in a swarm
Oh! They went fast, and Sally’s head had spun
But she quickly covered her ears when the Squire Choir begun

Now every Christmas has a sad little Grinch,
And I guess an eggplant thing will do in a pinch.
Now Lazarus, infamous, repetitive and vile
Tore from the paper, bearing a hideous smile
The unfortunate bearer cried out in dismay
The thing was now his for a horrid three hundred and sixty-five days
Now the exchange went on with much stealing from the crowd,
The things that were done would make many Vikings proud.