‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was staring, not even a card composer.

The cards were all send to the mailbox with care, in hopes that they would make it to their destinations all there.

The children were all nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of new video games danced in their heads.

And mamma in her flannels and I in my shirt, had just settled our brains for a long winter nap –

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the insulating curtains and no way was I opening the sash!

The moon, on the breast of the frozen icy snow, gave a luster of midday to objects below,

When what to my wondering eyes should appear but a miniature sleigh and eight tired reindeer.

With a little old driver, not in a UPS truck, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than a stamper at a super craft sale, 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, Wonder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall! Now, dash away, dash away, dash away, all!

As glitter before the cat’s paws fly, when the little buggers tail sends them up to the sky.

So up stop the house-top the coursers they flew, with a sleigh full of new stamp sets and St. Nicholas too.

And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I stumbled down the stairs and peeked over the railing, down the now appearing 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.

A bundle of stamp sets, designer paper, and dies he had flung on his back, and he looked like my wife just trying to sneak her new toys in the back.

His eyes how they twinkled! His dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry,

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.

He was cubby 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 head, soon gave to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and left my wife a whole new pile of crafting supplies before he turned with a jerk.

And laying his finger aside of nose, up the magical chimney 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, let your wife stamp and craft all she wants, and you’ll have a good life.

Happy Christmas Eve