'Twas the night before Christmas and all thru the Forum
Not a thread injector was whirring, in proper decorum
All the hammocks were hung from the trees with care
In hopes that Saint Shug would soon be there
The members were nestled all snug in their 'mocks
With visions of liver mush, their feet in down socks
And mamma in her KAQ, and I in my ENO
Had just settled down, warm in my nylon bear burrito.
When out in the woods there arose such a clatter
I jumped from the hammock to see what was the matter
Away to the MamaJamma tarp I flew in flash
Pulled open the doors, almost causing a gash
The moon on the breast of a new fallen snow
Gave lustre of mid day to the objects below
When, what to my wondering eyes would appear
But a pulk laiden with gear, pulled by eight HF members
With a little driver, so lively and smug
I knew in a moment, it must be Saint Shug
More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name
"Now Cannibal!, Now Just Jeff!, Now PGibson and Barefoot Child!
"On NCPatrick!, on Angrysparrow! Now Mule and the Wild!
To the top of Mt. Washington! to the top of the Wall!
Dash away, dash away, Dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane they fly
When they met with an obstacle, mount to the sky
So up to the tree tops, his coursers they flew
With the pulk full of gear, and Saint Shug too!
As I drew in my head and was turning around
Into the tarp came Saint Shug with bound
He was dressed in all down, from his head to his foot
His clothes all tarnished with years of woodstove soot
A bundle of gear he had slung to his ULA pack
And he looked like a peddler with that bag on his back
The stump of a cigar he held his in teeth
And the smoke it circled his head like a wreath
He had a broad face with a sly little smile
His face weathered from years of hard trail miles
He was chipper and acrobatic, a right jolly old elf
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself
With 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 quick to his work
And filled all the stockings with gear, then turned with a jerk
Reaching into his bag he pulled a unicycle
Rode out of the tarp, in a funny way that tickled
He sprang to his pulk and gave his team a whistle
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle
But I heard his exclaim as he rode away singing
Merry Christmas HF and to all a good night's hanging!