Twas The Night Before Christmas (Booksie Version)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


An adaptation of the poem by Clement Clarke Moore, written especially for Booksie.



Happy Christmas!

Submitted: December 19, 2017

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Submitted: December 19, 2017

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Twas The Night Before Christmas (Booksie version)

 

Twas the night before Christmas, when in Classic House

there was not much movement from many a mouse;

the posts they were posted, there to be read

by anyone online and not in their bed.

The writers were weary, feeling the strain

from all of the letters that had danced in their brain;

the staff were relaxed for a Christmas Eve night

when Booksie Guy jumped, for he had such a fright.

Outside there were noises, like hooves on a fence --

whatever it was did not make any sense;

he dashed to the window and then did look out,

the vision before him he greeted with doubt.

The ground was all covered so thickly with snow,

the light from the moon gave a glittery glow;

but what a sight was there, to meet his eyes,

eight reindeer with sleigh at a miniature size.

The driver, quite tiny, he knew without pause

was, without question, the real ‘Santa Claus’!

They moved with great speed, remarkably quick,

the sleigh full of presents that went with St. Nick;

he called them by name and the reindeer reacted

to all of the orders as they were extracted.

They lifted their hooves and they rose from the ground,

the sight of them flying could not fail to astound;

like twinkling stars they moved through the sky,

completely entrancing our own Booksie Guy.

Then came the sound of a pounding hoof,

there could be no doubt, they were up on the roof;

then followed the footsteps as St. Nick dismounted,

each one so clear that they could have been counted.

Thinking perhaps he was in some strange trance

Booksie Guy turned to the window, did glance

for through the closed window a figure did walk,

bemoaning the lack of a chimney, in talk.

He carried a sack that was full to the brim,

Booksie Guy wondered if there was one for him.

The face of this Santa, it was all aglow

and off from his clothes fell some small flakes of snow;

he had not noticed that he had been seen,

was drawn to the tree that still showed up some green.

He took from his pocket a pipe he would smoke,

saw a sign prohibiting – oh, what a joke,

for no one would mind if he had him a puff --

they’d tolerate anything to get their stuff!

He looked quite amusing, and Booksie Guy laughed;

he’d given his presence away – that was daft.

But there was no need to worry, a smile Santa gave,

then set to his work after giving a wave.

St. Nick, he worked silently, spoke not a word;

the reindeer were restless, their hooves could be heard,

he returned to the window, right up to the glass,

it made no sort of barrier that he could not pass.

St. Nick gave a whistle, a strange reindeer call,

the sleigh, in position to break any fall.

Santa, he turned, gave our BG a wave,

"Happy Christmas to all, for this site is my fave!”


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