It's the night before Christmas and I'm out in the barn,

Blanketing my horses to keep them all warm.

They're eating their dinners, tucked cozy in stalls,

Not aware that it's Christmas, or any day special at all.

They dream of spring pastures from their pine-scented beds.

No visions of sugarplums dance in their heads.

But we people are thinking of merry parties and such,

Quickly doing our tasks so we don't miss too much.

This season is special, but the horses don't know.

They munch o­n their hay safe out of the snow

I finish my chores and head o­n inside

To get ready for dinner and my family's yuletide.

It's nearly midnight, the carols are sung.

I remember a story told when I was young,

How at midnight o­n each Christmas Eve

The barnyard creatures can speak to us with ease.

I am called to the barn. I slosh through the snow.

I can't really explain; I know I must go.

I slide open the door, and stand there and smile

Then slowly walk down the dimly lit aisle.

A nicker from Cheyenne, a soft snort from Bandit,

Sweet, gentle Tojo gives me a wink

Little Pistol rustles his bedding, Paint comes into sight

Even Whiskey gives a greeting as I walk through the night.

I thought about parties bright lit and warm,

The o­nes we don't go to cause we have the barn,

And vacations and holidays that we usually don't get,

Cause we have the animals and chores to be met.

Walking all the way to the end of the asile,

I stop to stroke Maggie, and linger awhile,

She snuffles my face, hot breath o­n my skin

And I look around at the others, my horses, my friends.

I could be at parties with laughter and mirth

But where I am right now is the best place o­n Earth.