Every Scrib down in Scrib-ville
Liked writing a lot…
But the Grinch
Who lived just north of Scrib-ville
The Grinch hated writing! In fact, reading, as well.
Now, please don’t ask why, for he never will tell.
It could be his prescription wasn’t measured quite right.
Some might argue he still gripped pencil too tight.
But, whatever the reason,
His eyes or his grip,
The Grinch stood on Christmas Eve, hating the Scribs.
For he knew every Scrib down in Scrib-ville below
Was revising their stories and making them glow.
“And they’re penning their poems—their Christmas cards, too.
I can just hear them now, ‘Season’s Greetings to you!’”
Yes, he’d had quite enough. But what could a Grinch do?
Then he got an idea!
An awful idea!
The Grinch got a wonderful, awful idea!
“I’ll dress up like Santa and go into town
At night when the Scribs will for sure not be found.
And I’ll take all their paper, their pencils and pens,
Their books and computers, their useless book ends.
With nothing to write with and nothing to read
Not a word would be heard—quite a Grinch-y good deed.”
That very same night,
With old Max and his sleigh,
He slid into to Scrib-ville, his plan underway.
In no time at all he had filled all his sacks
With laptops and journals and pens in their caps.
He was at the last house when a little voice cried,
“Santa, why are you taking my story books? Why?”
He turned around fast, and what did he see?
Little Susie-Lou Scrib who was no more than three.
But you know that old Grinch was so smart and so slick
He thought up a lie and he thought it up quick.
“They’re missing two commas and some onomatopoeia.
I’ll fix them at home, then I’ll bring them back here.”
And as Susie-Lou Scrib went to bed with her cup,
The Grinch went to the chimney and stuffed the books up.
It was quarter past dawn…
All the Scribs still asleep
When he packed up his sleigh and away he did creep.
He had every last word
Not a one had he missed:
The phone books, the flyers,
the last grocery list.
Three-thousand feet up! Up the side of
He road with his load to the tiptop to dump it.
Once there, the Grinch paused,
For wouldn’t you know,
He wanted to hear the Scribs waking below
“Their mouths will hang open a minute or two
and, with no word to be heard, they will all cry BOO-HOO!”
So the Grinch put a hand to his Grinchy green ear
And stood listening hard for what he wanted to hear
But then over the crest of the new fallen snow
He heard a soft sound and it started to grow.
All the Scribs down in Scrib-ville
The tall and the small
Were sharing their words with no paper at all
“How could this be so?”
The Grinch said in a rage.
Words lived on in Scrib hearts and not on the page.
And what happened then?
Well, in Scrib-ville, they say.
That the Grinch’s tight grip grew three sizes that day.
He whizzed back into Scrib-ville, replete with his load.
Returning every last item, or so it’s been told.
And where’s the Grinch now?
Well, with his Grinchy-ish diction
He’s taking a class in