'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through our home
Not a creature was stirring, not even a gnome.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of pepper-imps danced in their heads.
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a whiz-bang, and two twins with red hair.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the parlor
The crackling and popping of the fire
That I had left unlit; A fire hazard while we sleep
I bounded downstairs with a loud "eep!"

There in the fireplace roared a fire of emerald hue
When with shock I saw a shape in the fire; 'tis true
And out stepped a man of great girth.
Carrying toys for all of such worth.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
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! 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 beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
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, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A twist of his head, and a shocked look
Soon told me, that for the tree myself he mistook.

He spoke just one word, saying "obliviate!"
And filled all the stockings, then turned quite straight
Heading for the fireplace, still green in color
And without even a nod, into the flames he tore!

Spun like a top was he
He spun away and out of view
but I heard him exclaim, 'ere he was out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

Merry Christmas! Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and The Night before Christmas belongs to Clement Clarke Moor (I think)