'Twas The Night Before Christmas
(Reuse - style)
T’was the night before Christmas, when all through the centre,
Not an item was stirring, not even basket filler.
The stockings were hung by the fabric with care
In hopes that St Nicholas would soon be there.
Crafty things were all nestled all snug in their bins.
Patterns in flats near the cookie tins
And Mama in her ‘kerchief and I in my cap
Had just settled our brains on a pile of burlap.
When out in the store, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from drop-off to see what was the matter.
Away to the door, I flew like a flash
To the bingo dabbers and candle wax.
The moon on the breast of new fallen glitter,
Something that used to be thought of as litter.
When, what to my wandering eyes should appear
But a wicker sleigh and eight matching reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted and called them by name.
“Now, Crafter! Now, Feather! Now Paper and Sequin!
On, Basket! On Juice Lid! On Coaster and Button!”
To the end of the volunteer room! To the door of the garage!
Now dash away! Dash away, to make a collage!
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the roof-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of crafts, and St Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The tinkling and clinking of laundry scoops.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down the stairs St Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed in faux fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were embellished with pieces of books.
A bundle of wood 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 white as the snow.
A piece of cork he held tight in his teeth,
And ribbon 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 wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me tags belonging to bread.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings with yarn and cork.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the stairs he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team he gave a whistle.
And away they all flew with Christmas tree’s, artificial.
But I hear his exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all Reuse Centre customers, and to all a good-night!”
Poem by Clement Clarke Moore (with modifications by Liane L., Reuse Centre Operator)
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