Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
Well…except one lone figure back in the North Pole
For whom all the preparations had taken their toll.
Mrs Claus couldn’t sleep for her mind was still reeling
From the list and the load and how everyone’s feeling.
How Santa had left in such a terrible mood,
Blaming her for the creases in his hat and his snood.
She’d baked so many mince pies others had kept for themselves,
Co-ordinated daily cheeky elves on various shelves,
She’d readied the reindeer and with an emergency snack,
Flung the last bundle of toys right onto Santa’s back.
More rapid than eagles her coursers they came,
And she whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away, dash away, give me space all!”
She’d made so many lists and she’d checked them all twice
Comparing the market for toy parts and price.
She’d creatively covered Lapland in decoration,
For no individual mention or standing ovation.
No lines in special songs or childhood applause,
For making up the bed for awkward Uncle Claus.
Cards sourced, labelled, sent, words written with care,
No one is forgotten because she is there.
Yet despite sustaining the global mystery believed,
She still feels like she hasn’t really ‘achieved.’
But you’ll hear her exclaim, with her last fragments of might,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”
- Ange Disbury -
* Original by Clement C Moore
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