Twas The Night Before Christmas

‘Twas The Night Before Christmas - "by" Steven Libbey

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The pontils were displayed by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Alonzo Blossom soon would join them there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While strawberry puce visions of Hopkins danced in dad's head;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my dive gear,
Had just set about for a cold winter bottle dive at a river near,

When out on the river bank there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the river bed to see what the matter.
Away to the bank I swam like a fish,
Climbed up on the shore then remembered my dive wish.

The moonbeams on the breast of the new-frozen ice
Betrayed the luster of nineteenth century objects below at least thrice
When, what did my wondering eyes see,
But a miniature sleigh, filled with Blossom's for me!,

With a little old driver, so lively even gonzo,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Alonzo.
More rapid than eagles his draft horses they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

To the top of the bank! To the top of the sea 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-tops the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Blossoms, and St. Alonzo too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the bank
The prancing and pawing of each horse's flank.
As I drew in my dive float, and was turning around,
Down the riverbank St. Alonzo 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 six pack of bottles he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His bottles -- how they twinkled! his pontils how merry!
His blobs were like roses, his stoppers 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;

A crumpled up old Ale recipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the effervescence of its concoction encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little beer belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of wanting to get one of his bottles for 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 filled up my dive float; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the riverbank 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 I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,


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