Merry Christmas Poem
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the dropzone,
Not a creature was packing, not even Doug Wat-sone;
The packed rigs were hung by the rigrack with care,
In hopes that good weather soon would be there;
The manifesters were nestled all snug in the office,
While visions of 1800 made Turk and Rick nonplus;
And I in my long underwear, wool socks and crap,
Had just settled my bank account for a long winter's nap,
When out on the tarmac there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the hangar to see what was the matter.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a PAC 750, and 12 jumpers in gear,
With a little old driver, who had a learners' permit,
I knew in a moment it must be Kermit.
More rapid than terminal his divers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Rance-r! now, Charlie! now, Jake and Larry!
On, Bill! on, Troy! on, Emily and Jeremy!
On, Crowder! (on second thought) On, Witt and Ron!
On, Zane! Let's go, get a move on!
To 10,000 feet! to the top of the sky!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away high!"
So up to altitude the jumpers they flew,
With helmets and dytters, and a dive plan too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the scanner
The call for jumprun; I checked the flight planner.
As I looked to the sky, I saw 12 little shadows,
Come together in formation like pros.
They turned 20 points and I smiled with such bliss,
"In Kansas? RW? We need a picture of this!"
The sound of their canopies filled the air,
They flew onto downwind without even a care.
Lined up in rows, they all floated around,
And turned a few times to come down to the ground.
And then a loud noise: I awoke with a jerk,
(No, I'm not talking about my good friend Turk...)
I sat up in bed and thought, did that occur?
I looked out my window and saw fog, a dark blur.
20 point 12 way out of a PAC supreme;
I should have known it was only a dream.
So on this Holiday, I can only recite,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good flight."