‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
The living were restless. Yes, even the mouse;
The tension was rising, much higher it’d flare;
The murderous plot to become a nightmare;
The family lay helpless all snug in their beds;
While wickedness schemed of taking some heads;
Poor mamma grew nervous, and I sensed a trap,
I tried to ignore it and take a short nap,
Yet unaware, an approaching bad monster,
I embarked on a dream of life as a mobster.
‘Fore midnight we woke at the sound of a crash,
I rolled over and grunted and declined to dash.
Mama scowled yet arose as she called me an ass,
I snatched covers to swaddle, then passed a loud gas.
Yet what to my reluctant ears did I hear,
But a high-pitched scream, no doubt from my dear.
With a sigh and a smirk, I rose none too quick,
Not knowing her fright was a red dressed St. Nick.
I found her spread out and sliced up in pieces.
My love was attacked by a man who ate Reese’s.
“For, Dasher! and, Dancer! and Prancer and Vixen!
For, Comet! for, Cupid! for, Donner and Blitzen!
I seek vengeance my pets! Your plight is my call.
Now slash away! Slash away! Slash away all!”
He stopped and looked up where I stood on the stairs,
His smile a vile sneer brought me fear for my heirs.
“She ran over my reindeer, stole all the toys too.
She ruined Christmas for many, I ask if you knew.”
More candy he munched, awaiting my answer,
While twirling his hatchet, he swayed like a dancer.
Then I drew a breath and searched for some wordage,
Not sure what to say, I hunted for courage.
“I knew nothing dear Santa, if I had, my Claus,
Would have slaughtered already, without a pause,
She put the kibosh on Christmas, so I concur,
No forgiveness, nor pardon did she dare deserve.”
He stared at her carcass, stuck a toe in the gore,
Then shouldered his hatchet and strode to the door.
A wink of his eye and a nod of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He threw open the door and stepped out to go,
The wind howled sharply and blew in some snow.
On the lawn was his sleigh pulled by a strange team.
Six white huskies with wings. It must be a dream.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
Off my yard they all flew like the down of a thistle.
I stepped over the carnage to close the door.
Then went for a mop to clean up the floor.
Soon heard him exclaim, as I recovered from fright—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
A copy of the classic I read to my daughters when they were young.