Friday, December 24, 2004

Waiting for Santa (apologies to Clement Moore)

Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse,
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes they'll be filled with more than just air.
The children are nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of video games dance in their heads.
And Mr. G in his boxers and I in my pjs
Have drunk too much eggnog and are snoring away.

When up in the kids' rooms, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Up three flights of stairs, I flew like a flash,
Twisted my ankle making such a made dash.
The moon on the mess that lay out below,
Reminded me there are some things I'd rather not know,
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I thought for a moment I just might be sick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
So I whistled and shouted and called out each name;
On Douglas and Thaddeus and Stephanie too,
If you don't get in bed, Santa will surely skip you.
Put on those pajamas! To the beds right this minute!
Dash away, dash away! Close those eyes now I mean it!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I ran down the stairs and made way for the kitchen,
I heard a moan from the couch and saw a foot twitching.
He was dressed all in green, from his foot to his head,
And his clothes were all cover with a blanket from the bed.
A bundle of toys he had hidden all around,
And it looked like they might never be found.

His eyes how they twitched! his dimples not merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose he had buried!
His droll little mouth was drawn up for a snore,
And the beard of his chin proved shaving a chore;
The glass of champagne he had left on the floor,
And the bubbles came out eat time that he snored;
He had a quiet face and a peaceful smile,
That made me want to leave him for a while.

He was happy and content, a right jolly old geek,
But I poked him and prodded, "Get up, you freak!";
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And pointing his finger up into the air,
And giving a nod, he climbed up the stairs;
He sprang to his bed, to his wife gave a shout,
And under the covers they both headed out,
But I heard him whisper, ere he slept for the night,