09/19/2026
’Twas the night before bowling, when all through the house,
Not a bowler was stirring, not even a mouse.
The bowling balls waited, all polished with care,
In hopes that tomorrow they will roll thru the air.
The bowlers were dreaming, tucked snug in their beds, with visions of strikes dancing around in their heads.
Their shoes by the doorway, their jerseys near by, while thoughts of new high scores. We're reaching the sky.
When out in the alley there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from our seats to see what was the matter.
Away to the bowling center we flew like a flash,
Hoping to find that perfect ball and pin crash.
The lights on the lanes gave a colorful glow,
And the pins stood in rows, all ready to go.
When what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But a bowler with eight perfect strikes in his gear!
With a little old bowling ball, lively and round,
We knew in a moment that strikes would abound.
More rapid than rockets, his bowling ball flew,
And he shouted, “Come on! Let’s get a spare too!”
“Now STRIKE! now SPARE! now TURKEY and FOUR!
On a SPLIT! On a HOOK! Send that ball down the floor!
To the end of the lane, let those ten pins all fall!
Now bowl away! Bowl away! Knock down them all!”
The ball rolled straight down with a thunderous sound,
Then smashed into pins and sent them around.
And I heard them exclaim, as they scattered from sight,
“Happy Bowling to all, and to all a good night!” 🎳
