A reworking of the classic poem, Twas the Night before Christmas, by Dr. Clement C. Moore.

Listen to a recording of the poem.

24 December, 2017

Mine Original
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when in many a house ‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
All the creatures were stirring, including the mouse; Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
All their stockings were hung, but not over here, The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In the hope that St. Nicholas would not reappear; In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
My children were snuggled in my ex’s beds, The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
Where I wondered what visions danced in their heads; While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
Their mum in her mischief, left me with a gap, And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
And settled my girls away from my lap, Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the street there arose noise and clatter, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
So I jumped out of bed to see what was the matter. I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I ran with a dash, Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the curtains to witness, abashed. Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The streetlights shining on a festive road show The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
And a lustre of fun about the people below, Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
So what to my saddened eyes did appear, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a scene celebrating that time of year, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a tipple of brandy, so lively and quick, With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment, they were toasting St. Nick. I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
But not in this house! My mind thought aflame, More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
As through clenched teeth, I swore at his name; And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
Be gone from my porch! Do not lean on my wall! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!” Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
I screamed through the window, with tears in my eyes, As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
Looking up to the heavens, I cried out “Why?”, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
On this day, of all days, could I not share with you, So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
The joy when you open all your toys, too. With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I saw in my mind And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and cheering at each little find. The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was churning around, As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
The joy of St.Nicholas, celebrations unbound. Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
Then in rushed the real world, with a stamp of my foot! He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
When I looked across the room, where the tree would have stood; And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
No toys in their wrappings, or lights shining full, A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
No turkey, or stuffing, or crackers to pull. And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
My gaze lowered. My mood wasn’t merry! His eyes – how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
As my cheeks glowered with a temper of fury! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
My scornful thin lips, drawn down like a bow, His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
My unshaven chin, gave my face a shadow; And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a rollup, held tight in my teeth, The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke rung around me like a funeral wreath; And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
My thin face and middle-aged pot-belly, He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when I cried, like a a sad bowl of jelly. That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
I am chubby, I thought, loathing myself, He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
I looked as sad, and as loathsome, as Harry’s house-elf; And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
I rubbed my eyes, shook my head, A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
That day had arrived I was fearing with dread; Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
I spoke not a word, so my mind set to work, He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Feeling worthless and hopeless. A useless jerk, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
Then a ring broke the silence. My mind froze, And laying his finger aside of his nose,
But with a nod, the better side of me chose; And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
To spring to my phone, and answer its whistle, He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And at the other end, my daughters’ excitement bristled. And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
And I heard them exclaim, with all their might, But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,


Creative Commons License
‘Twas the Night Before Not-Christmas by Steve Huckle is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at https://glowkeeper.github.io/assets/poetry/NotChristmas/.