Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
Stirring what exactly? Be more specific.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
Geeze, what are you guys? Friggen bears?
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
And that's why you only eat sashes in months that contain the letter Y.
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 sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew 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, 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, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
"Does my home insurance cover reindeer damage?" That's what I'd be wondering right about now.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
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.
Boy, his dry cleaning bill must be enormous.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
Does this make Santa the Peddler on the Roof?
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
Sounds to me like Santa's been indulging in a little too much "christmas cheer", if you know what I mean.
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 laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
So Santa is not only an alcoholic, but is also a smoker and overweight. How has this guy not had a stroke?
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed 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.
Are you sure about that? Because all that winking and beard pulling is starting to make me wonder if Santa is on the sex offenders registry.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
Oh, there's the stroke.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!
Why would Santa want to levitate the chimney?
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
I wonder what the air-speed velocity of the average thistle down is. Are we talking African or European thistle?
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
If this was a real poetry explication, I'd have to talk about meter and word choice and rhyme scheme and all that other shit. Instead I'm just being a smart ass. Because what else is an English major to do on Christmas?
Merry Christmas, everyone.