‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
Stolen stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Ms Klaussman soon would be there;
The children were sardined, sixteen to a bed,
As visions of mayhem danced wild in their heads.
When out on the Green there arose such a clatter,
I jumped from my bed to see what was the matter.
Over to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon it was shining on new-fallen snow
As some chump got mugged on the street down below,
Then, much to my joy there appeared in the heavens,
A Vincent Black Shadow, pulled by eight massive griffins,
The tall, haughty driver, with dark streaming hair,
I knew without doubt it was Klaussman the Fair.
More rapid than eagles her griffins they came,
And she whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Angus! Now, Boaby! Now, Gerry and Tam!
On, Jamesie! On, Andy! On, Seamus and Bam!
To the top of the Green! To the top of the wall!
Now fly away! Fly away! Fly away all!”
They bound ‘cross the city, their mighty wings spread,
And their driver she whipped them till their bums were raw red.
Then up to the housetop the griffins they flew,
a bike and sidecar of toys, and Ms Klaussman too.
They disappeared from sight, and I heard on the roof
The resonating ‘thump’ of each massive hoof.
I drew back from the window, and was turning around,
Down the chimney came Klaussman with a feline-like sound.
She was dressed all in cat-fur, from her hat to her boots,
And the tails of dead animals trailed after her foots;
A bundle of pilliwinks she had flung on her back,
And she looked straight toward me as she opened her pack.
Her cheeks were like roses! Her eyes – how they glinted!
Her hair was a masterpiece, glossy and tinted!
The fur of her coat was as white as the snow;
Her boots were red leather, with a cat collar bow.
A stump of cigar she held tight in her teeth,
And the smoke it encircled her head like a wreath.
Her full pouty mouth was drawn up in a sneer,
As I crept from the window, nearer and nearer.
And I laughed when I saw her, in spite of myself;
A wink of her eye and a twist of her head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk,
And laying her finger aside of her nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney she rose.
She sprang to her bike, to her griffins a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard her exclaim, ere she drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas my orphans, to my orphans good-night.”
this was written by my sister belladonna navarone