I do not own Star Trek Voyager or "Twas the Night Before Christmas."
I was trying to keep with the rhyme scheme and keep it related to Voyager as well as with the poem so it might not make total sense. This is my first poem/song parody so please comment on what you think!
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the ship
All the sensors were silent, not even a blip.
The crew were all standing by their posts with care,
In hopes that Earth soon would be there.
The child was nestled all snug in her bed,
While visions of Flotter danced in her head.
All the Borg in their alcoves, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long hour's nap.
When up on the bridge there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the turbolift I flew like a flash,
Ran to the bridge and threw up the hash.
A wormhole appeared 'round the bend
Giving hope to the journey's soon end.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature ship with eight tinny reindeer.
With a powerful driver, so lively and new,
I knew in a moment it must be Q2.
More rapid than warp drive his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Kim! now, Paris! now, Chakotay and Torres!
On, Seven! On, Naomi! on, on Janeway and Icheb!
To the end of the quadrant! to the home you all call!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dust particles that before the ion storm fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the ship the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of presents, and Q2.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the hull
The prancing and pawing of each little bull.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Snapping his fingers, Q2 came with a bound.
He was dressed all in uniform, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all sporting no ashes or soot.
A bundle of gifts he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the pips on his collar were as high as they go.
The stump of a pipe he held tight because,
Only Tom Paris could say what it was.
He had a cute face and a purpose quite true,
To repay this crew with no more leola root stew!
He was carefree and powerful, a right jolly young Q.
And I frowned when I saw him, wondering what he would do!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his snapping,
And filled up the crew with hope they'd soon be packing.
And laying his finger beside of his hood,
And giving a snap, left the bridge for good!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he warped too far to track,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all welcome back!"
I hope you liked it . . . please comment.