A Dynamic Christmas

A Dynamic Christmas

By Brent Sickel #54924

‘Twas the night before the Christmas Open, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The bags were all hung by the front door with care,
In hopes that tournament day soon would be there.
The golfers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Ace-Runs danced in their heads.
And my wife in her DD hoodie, and I in my Dynamic cap
Had just settled down for our pre-tournament nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew to get proof;
Tore open the shutters to see the truth.
The moon was reflecting off the new-fallen snow
Giving a luster of midday to the basket below.
When what do my suspecting eyes did appear,
But a commander bag packed with eight discs in pair.

There was a little old golfer throwing so lively and quick;
I knew in a moment he must be the disc golfing St. Nick.
More rapid than EMac his practice putts they came,
Then he looked in his bag and called each disc by name.
Lucid Trespass and Felon, Fuzion Captain and Defender;
Bio Witness and Justice, Classic Warden and Slammer.
From inside the circle to the chains of the basket you fall,
Now fly away, fly away, fly away all.