'Twas the Night Before Christmas
'Twas the century before Christmas, and all through the mansion,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a dung beetle.
The pairs of pants were hung by the sofa with care,
In hopes that St. Blake soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their refrigerators,
While visions of sugar-corn dogs danced in their ears.
And uncle in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the desk to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
praised open the shutters, and shot up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave the luster of mid-millennium to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear?
But a green pizza, and eight tiny cats.
With a little old driver, so lively and rottin,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Blake.
More rapid than kittens his cats they came,
And he whistled, and poked, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! Now, Thomas! Now, Hot Dog and Vixen!
On, Dude! On Chicken! On, Sock and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the yellow snow!
Now burp away! Burp away! Burp away all!"
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the sofa St. Blake came with a bound.
His eyes -- how they fell! His dimples, how yum!
His toenails were like dogs, his armpit like a prune!
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
And filled all the pairs of pants, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his head aside of his hand,
And giving a nod, up the sofa he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a boom,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good century!"
Not a creature was stirring, not even a dung beetle.
The pairs of pants were hung by the sofa with care,
In hopes that St. Blake soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their refrigerators,
While visions of sugar-corn dogs danced in their ears.
And uncle in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the desk to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
praised open the shutters, and shot up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave the luster of mid-millennium to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear?
But a green pizza, and eight tiny cats.
With a little old driver, so lively and rottin,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Blake.
More rapid than kittens his cats they came,
And he whistled, and poked, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! Now, Thomas! Now, Hot Dog and Vixen!
On, Dude! On Chicken! On, Sock and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the yellow snow!
Now burp away! Burp away! Burp away all!"
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the sofa St. Blake came with a bound.
His eyes -- how they fell! His dimples, how yum!
His toenails were like dogs, his armpit like a prune!
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
And filled all the pairs of pants, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his head aside of his hand,
And giving a nod, up the sofa he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a boom,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good century!"
-- "'Twas the Night Before Christmas," corrupted and abridged.
