The eggnog was chilled and the taters all mashed,
The gravy de-lumped and the roast nicely slashed.
Cranberries, stuffing, candies, and booze—
All of the goodies a body could choose—
Were carefully laid on a table so large,
It usually served as a small river barge.

Although drooling, they controlled themselves,
Grinning sly little grins like mischievous elves;
The splendiferous spread was not yet complete,
Without that one dish, they just couldn’t eat.

What was this one dish for which they all waited?
The dish that all loved, and nobody hated?
Why, that wonderful taste treat, that olde Christmas musto:
Fresh-baked, angelic, delicious Bread Crusto!
Who minded if stockings were hung up with care
If there wasn’t that holiday Crusto to share?

When it finally was ready, loudly they cried,
Then they all laughed, and babbled, and sighed.
And amid all the feasting, and yakking, and mirth,
The entire group felt at peace with the earth.

When feasting was over and frenzy all done,
The last turkey downed with the last tasty bun,
They sat around playing with fun Christmas treasures,
All those marvelous doodads that brought many pleasures.

And what with the playing and washing the dishes,
Some sought to satisfy all of their wishes,
For what with the play, and the work, and the rest,
It didn’t take long for those treats to digest.
And though they had eaten until they could burst,
There was still a bunch left of the best and the worst.

There were crackers and cheeses, and veggies and dips,
There were seafoods and landfoods, and fruit-flavored flips,
There were candies and cookies, and schnitzels and strudels,
There were popcorn and peanuts, and oddly shaped noodles;
There were chocolates and toffies, and Aunt Mabel’s beaners,
There were fruitcakes with goobers and short pickled wieners.

But none could compare with the leftover mound
Of that holiday treat that kept going around,
That treat of which making enough was a musto—
Yes, there was still just a little Bread Crusto.

So they nibbled and snacked on the slices and crumbs,
Ignoring migration of fat to their bums,
For wasn’t it Christmas, that big, day-long feast?
And besides, it was only just one little piece…

And yes, true, the mounds had taken a beating.
And yes, true, here we all still were eating,
But we find it much easier to have a good time,
Consuming and snorting like gluttonous swine.

Merry Christmas (oink oink)

(Apologies to Dr. Seuss. I wrote this over 30 years ago and had forgotten all about it until my sister Katy handed me a copy she had transcribed. I’ll post a Bread Crusto recipe soon.)