By Mike Barnhardt

‘Twas the night before Christmas,

And all through the town, motorists were driving round and around.

Finally complete, they could only wonder,

Why this roundabout so simple, could be such a blunder.

They built one on I-40, just a few miles away. How long did it take them, maybe a day?

Problems here they told us, and problems there. By golly, we’ve got problems, everywhere.

No, not August or September, or even October. We’ll not be done, until we decide the work is over.

Then one day, I heard such a clatter. I raced from Hospital Street to see what was the matter.

There they were, going round and around. Vehicles in the roundabout, nowhere bound.

I just had to come, I just had to see. But where do I exit, too many choices for me.

Then, what does my wandering mind hear? More minions in offices, plotting I fear.

They’re platting too, and planning on paper. More roundabouts here, is their primary caper.

Farmington Road and U.S. 158, that would be a great notion, to keep all this traffic in perpetual motion.

Oh, but then I see them, and they become clear. It must be Santa, and all his reindeer.

“Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen! On Comet! On Cupid! On Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of Miller’s! To the top of Auto Zone! We’ve got to get through to reach all those homes!”

So into the new roundabout they flew, with Rudolph leading, casting a red hue.

Which way do I turn, which way do I go? Poor Rudolph was country, he didn’t know.

So he took a right turn, thank goodness they say. But he was going too fast, for a fully loaded sleigh.

The toys they rattled, all gathered in a cluster. As Santa held on, for all he could muster.

Rudolph charged on, his nostrils getting wetter. Going around and around, not knowing any better.

Then Santa yelled, “Turn right, turn right I say.” And Rudolph veered, on that very day.

Then Santa winked and twisted his head, to let us all know, we have nothing to dread.

He said not a word, but went straight to his work. And filled all the stockings, and turned with a jerk.

And laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle.

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard his exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night.”  

Mike Barnhardt is the editor of the Davie County Enterprise Record.