My Christmas Stories

T'was the Night Before Christmas...

A darker side of Christmas... with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
No stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were all long dead in their beds,
No visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and dad in his hat,
Were only a memory and distant at that,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
But there was no-one left to see what's the matter.
No-one to fly to the window in a flash,
To tear open the shutters and throw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to any wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
T'was clear in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONNER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

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, up high on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
With rattle and clatter and many a sound,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he cried like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And he burst into tears in spite of himself;
For there was no-one waiting with drink or bread,
All over the world, every human was dead;

He heaved a great sigh and cried "Alack",
And put all the presents back into the sack,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And wiping a tear, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But he exclaimed once, ere he drove out of sight,
IF ONLY THEY'D LEARNED, TO TALK AND NOT FIGHT!