You may want to consider that the word “gift” means “poison” in at least one language.
This wonderfully written parody of “A Visit from Saint Nick” (original by Clement Clarke Moore in 1823) was written by Yvonne M. Lucia in December of 2010. If anyone knows how t reach Yvonne, please let me know. It was circulated in an e-mail that I got, probably about fourth-hand.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the state,
the citizens were restless, awaiting their fate.
FONG* signs were placed on front lawns with care,
in hopes that gas drilling would commence there.
Leaseholders were nestled, all snug in their beds,
while visions of a gold rush danced in their heads.
With Cuomo in Albany and Pete Grannis gone,
will our leaders become industry’s pawn?
In Dimock , PA there’s been such a clatter -
the water’s gone bad, but what does it matter?
In Big Flats, NY people’s water is bubbling;
there’s no fracking yet , that’s what’s most troubling.
Gas flares on the breast of the new fallen snow
gave a luster of orange to objects below,
when what to our wondering eyes should appear,
but water trucks, rigs, and compressor stations near,
and armies of landmen, who bold-face lies speak;
we knew in a moment they’re from Chesapeake .
They descended like vultures circling their prey,
from farmers to widows, they promised to pay
fifty dollars an acre, now one hundred, now two,
up to one thousand, six thousand, it’s true!
“To the top of the heap! Don’t let the deal stall!
Now sign the lease! Sign the lease! Sign the lease, all!”
When permits were granted, along came denials
that there could be problems with drilling gone wild.
As gag rules were issued when water went bad,
people began to feel they’d been had.
So they joined forces and shared their sad tales -
in state after state, regulations had failed.
They held their heads high and spoke truth to power:
“This is the moment, this is the hour -
We demand our right to clean water and air,
to the seventh generation we pledge our care;
not in my backyard, or in anyone else’s
will we ravage the earth to fatten our purses.”
Their eyes, how they twinkled, their spirits were merry!
Onward and upward their voices did carry.
In spite of the obstacles, grass roots groups formed;
Now thousands strong, gas companies, be warned:
“You are NOT persons, despite what courts say.
We the people will have our way
as we take back our land, our water and air,
our victories won on a wing and a prayer.”
And then in that instant, up on the roof
we heard someone crying, we needed no proof.
As we drew in our heads and were turning around,
down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
His eyes were all bloodshot, but not from not sleeping;
“Oh Santa, dear Santa Claus, why are you weeping?”
“High up in the sky my sleigh has been flying;
when I looked down below, I saw the earth dying.
My heart is breaking, there’ll be Christmas no more
if in place of giving, greed is the lure.”
And we heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
“Drilling isn’t safe – keep up the fight!”
(*FONG =Friends of Natural Gas)