It was the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
Wait, shouldn’t that be “twas the night before Christmas?” Or maybe it was “tis the night before Christmas?” Doesn’t matter. You should just know that the next day was going to be Christmas.
And all throughout Grace, not a creature was stirring
Except for rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, a fox or two, a stray cat, a couple of deer, and the howling dog from the next subdivision. Other than that, not a creature was stirring. Of course, Woodstock Road was always stirring with Mustangs, Chargers and pickups without mufflers. What rhymes with mufflers?
The stockings were hung above the fake fireplace with care.
This next part is boring and I don’t know what a sugar-plum is. Besides, since the internet, it’s better I don’t know what my grandchildren are dreaming.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
I need to change that. I haven’t been able to spring or sprang or anything since my last surgery. Let’s just say I got up.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
Same as the spring/spranging. I got to the window in my own sweet time. And the only thing I’ve torn lately was some tendons.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below.
Have to cut that. This is Georgia.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear?
Obviously it's whatever caused the clatter. All I know at this point is it couldn’t be the trash pickup. That’s Thursday. Except for the weeks when it’s on Friday. Either way, they make more than a clatter.
I’d keep going, but this is too long already and I need to Google “coursers.” The original poet uses it twice, and it’s not a word that comes up in conversation in my house. I'll just end this with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore and…
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay