Tis the Morning of Christmas
Tis the morning of Christmas, and all through my house, not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings have been emptied, no candy to spare; the children are playing with toys left for them there. Ms. Claus in her kerchief, and I in my cap, have now settled down for a long winter’s nap.
The ‘deer are exhausted, and have been un-reigned; their stalls have been mucked; their gear rearranged. “Down, Dasher! Down, Dancer! Down, Prancer and Vixen! Down, Comet! Down Cupid! Down, Donner and Blitzen! Down Rudolf, relax and turn off your nose, tis time now, dear pets, for your annual repose!
My coat trimmed in fur from head to my foot, is tarnished all over with ashes and soot; I’ve hung it on pegs just inside the door, the tear at the hem must be mended once more..
My droll little mouth is cracked and quite sore; my beard is windblown, all knotted galore. My teeth are brown stained, perhaps from the smoke; but worried I’m not, for my pipe isn’t broke.
My little round belly is growling just now, but when I awake, there’ll be jelly somehow. I’ll remain nimble, chubby and plump, for this jolly old elf will find strength to jump up.
But now I must sleep, but before I can snore, Merry Christmas to All, Merry Christmas, once more!
CPW
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