‘Twas two weeks before Christmas
and upon Meetinghouse Hill,
nine people were gathered
despite the night’s chill.
The group a bit aged, but they nevertheless came,
President Dave commenced and called them by name:
Now, Popes! Now, Farwell! Now, Canada and Corey!
You Winters! You Cook! You Webb, somewhat hoary!
To the business at hand we all must attend
Or this meeting I fear will never end.
So let’s get on with it and hear each one out.
You’ll all have a turn, so there’s no need to shout.
Minutes approved. The Treasurer’s numbers were told.
All rejoiced when they heard that every tree had been sold.
Thanks were expressed to those who helped sell,
Whose generous work made this fund-raiser go well.
There was talk of the peckers wreaking havoc outside,
And the historical sign seen by those on a ride,
Of Eric and Gina’s glorious photos of yore,
And exactly where we should put a new door.
When, what to our wondering eyes did appear
But an excavator, dump truck and Farwells in gear.
They spoke not a word and went straight to their work,
Cutting and filling and brushed it off with a shirk.
But we heard them exclaim ere they drove out of site,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”