'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the hang,
Not a hanger was stirring, not even a mouse;
The tarps were hung by the ridge lines with care,
In hopes that St. Shugolas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their hammocks,
While visions of Dutch Gear danc'd in their heads,
And the Terminator in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap-
When out on the woods there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the hammock to see what was the matter.
Away to the tarp doors I flew like a flash,
Tore open the doors, and threw up the ends.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature unicycle, and eight tiny Gorge Rats,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Shugolas.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name:
"Now! Hawk-eye, now! Fronky, now! JuneBug, and Gresh,
"On! Olddog, on! Canoebie, on! Loki and Pretbek;
"To the top of the tree straps! to the top of the tarp!
"Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the tarp-top the coursers they flew,
With the unicycle full of Toys - and St. Shugolas too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the tarp ridge line
The prancing and pawing of each little paw.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the ridge line St. Shugolas came with a bound:
He was dress'd all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnish'd with ashes and soot;
A bundle of hammock gear was flung on his back,
And he look'd like a DIY'er 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 laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly:
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of myself;
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 fill'd all the stockings; then turn'd with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the ridge line he rose.
He sprung to his unicycle, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle:
But I heard him exclaim, ere he peddled out of sight-
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
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Originally Posted by Junebugdawn
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