‘Twas the month before Christmas, when all through the Pole

Not a creature was stirring – except one tired old soul;

The pots were each hung in the kitchen with care,

But cooking for so many just didn’t feel fair!

The elves were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of overtime danced in their heads;

And Nick in his onesie and wearing his cap,

Had just settled his brains for a long winter’s nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

Mrs. Claus sighed to herself as she dried the last platter.

Away to the front door she flew like a flash,

And thought, “Why I am the one who always must dash?”

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to an object aglow,

For landing within the space of a mile,

Was a gigantic plane bearing an Amazon smile!

With a little old pilot, so lively and quick,

She knew in a moment it must be Old Rick.

More rapid than coursers his helpers they came,

And he encouraged and shouted and called them by name;

“Now, Parcel! now, Packet! now, Packer and Shipper!

On, Wrapper! on, Gluer! on Ribbon and Glitter!

To the top of the steps and through the back door!

Then hurry back quickly to deliver some more!”

So up the loading dock the helpers they flew,

With their arms full of gifts – and Christmas cards too.

And then, in an inkling, Mrs. Claus had an idea:

She’d brew the whole crew a big pot of tea!

As she laid out the teacups and freshly baked scones,

Down the staircase her husband thumped, emitting loud groans.

He was dressed in his PJs, but missing his cap,

“What’s all this commotion? I’m a tired old chap!”

His cheeks were like roses, but his face was afrown,

Seeing him this unhappy brought Mrs. Claus down.

He’d been chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

But with all the stress, he just wasn’t himself.

A twitch of his eye and the droop of his head,

Told her she needed to get Santa right back to bed.

She said not a word, but went straight to her task,

She knew how to fix this without being asked.

So she poured him a finger of Scotch in a glass,

He thanked her, saying “You’re a fine thoughtful lass!”

Now back to Old Rick and the Amazon crew,

Who with their unloading were just about through.

Old Rick thanked her, saying “It looks like more snow,

If you don’t mind, ma’am, we’ll take it to go!”

But she heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight,

“We’ll be back soon. You were a marvel tonight!”

---

With apologies to Clement C. Moore

NOTE: A version of this poem was published in the December 2022 edition of Neighbours of Windfields magazine. Click here to see it.