With a nod of affection to Clement Clarke Moore.
As usual, I use Janet Evanovich's characters for fun, not profit.
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Rangeman,
Not a creature was stirring, not one Merry Man.
Their stockings were hung by the gun case with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
Frankie was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of Gramma Plum's cookies danced in his head.
And Stephanie in her nightie, and me in the buff,
Had just settled down to kiss and do other fun stuff.
When out on the parking lot there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
I put on my robe and went to the laptop in a dash,
Clicked on an icon and watched the monitor in a flash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what before my eyes should spill,
But Red Porsche Cayenne with a wreath on its grill.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his elves they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
"Now, Vincent! now, Hector! now, Binkie and Cal!
On, Tank! on Woody! on, Lester and Hal!
To the top of the terrace! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the roof-top the elves they flew,
With the Cayenne full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The stamping and clomping of each of their boots.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the duct work St. Nicholas came with a bound.
I wondered how our security system could be disarmed,
But he got to the Christmas Tree, unharmed;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes – how they twinkled, he looked like he was ripped!
His cheeks were so red, I wondered how many egg nogs he sipped.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his mouth,
I took it from him, saying "Not in this house".
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, with no muscle tone,
I told him he should work out, when he got home.
A wink of my eye and a tilt of my head,
I soon let him know that he had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled Frankie's stocking; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the duct work he rose.
He sprang to his Cayenne, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all packed the SUV like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."