Twas the proverbial night before Christmas
When all through the house oboes wobbled
And bells drummed twas Nick at his sticks
While the children blew bellows in burrows
Asleep how through all this babbled version
One could hear their little tin horns bleep
All sugar tipped up and fat ball hobbled
Achoo in me hat and mamma in her ache
The babe at her breast for a milk rich bowl
When out on the street the leaf blowers
Blowered at this hour a rout and I tripped
Nary tipped mind you but a blob had sat
On my head nevertheless rose to deal
With the matter the moon yes the rain
Drips deep below when then did I spy
The eight petite reindeer and their poser
Whose echo touted tomatoes and fruit
Dressed as they were in greens and reds
But I’ll spare you here the royal roll call
Suffice to say yes they did fly at his whip
Peeble, Hooch, Boop, Bloob and the others
Then came the dashes – – – – – – – – one
After another like leaves when they fall
He knocked politely at the door a mere
Echo of past years his smile an arrow
Soon up the street in his branded vest
Stopped here and there with boxed goods
For the goodies then turned signalled left
Leaving me to pick up my package
Empty my stockings of my two tired
Feet and return blue to my windy sleep.
The Coming of the Toads 