Twas the night before Yuletide
And all through the Hall,
Not a Hero was stirring,
There was somehow no brawl!
The pictures were hung
in the hallway with care
With hopes that Saint Finnegan
Soon would be there!
The heroes were passed out on the tables they drank
With visions of vermin creatures being hit by a plank!
And ‘Lex in her gown and I in my cloak
Had seen a weird frog, not trying to croak!
When out in the street there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my table to see what was the matter!
To the big doors I flew in a flash
I yanked them both open and got a hand gash!
The moon on the breast of the new fallen rain,
Gave luster of shining to the carts of grain!
When what to my wondering eyes is to walk,
But a tiny lil’ coffin pulled by eight colored rocks!
With a little clear driver so tiny and thin,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Fin!
More rapid than Direwolve’s his rocks oh they came.
He whistled and shouted and called them by name!
“Now Ruby! Now ‘Marine,! Now Garnet and Sapphire!
On Opal! And Topaz! And Emerald and Amethyst!
To the top of the spike! To the top of the hall!
Now blast away! Blast away! Blast away all!”
As dry leaves that before the hurricane fly,
When they met with an obstacle they blast towards the sky!
So up to the hall top the rocks oh they flew!
With a coffin full of knick-knacks, and Saint Finnegan too!
And then in a moaning I heard at the top,
The panting and puffing and the good ol’ word “stop!”
As I drew in my head and turned cautiously to around,
Down the chimney Saint Finnegan came with a bound!
He was dress in aura rays from top to the bottom,
And he lost all his shine like a flower in autumn.
A couple of drinks he had on his back,
He looked like a pedestrian opening’ his pack!
His eyes how he had none- his dimples, none neither
No cheeks did he have, no button nose either!
His droll little mouth there wasn’t one there,
And the beard on his chain, one there was like a bear!
With a puff of a pipe he tried to hold in his teeth,
It feel for he had none into on heroes sheath!
He had an old bottle and his little thin body,
He shook his head bottle, for it was all spotty!
He was thin and skeletal, not a jolly old elf.
I sighed when I saw him, depressed at is wealth.
With a sigh of white smoke and a twist of his “head”
Soon gave me to know I should head off to bed.
He spoke not a word as he headed to his work.
He hung things from the portraits and turned with a jerk,
And laying a smoke ray aside of his beard,
He gave me a nod as a chicken looked at him weird.
He screamed as he ran to his coffin up top,
He yelled at the rocks and they gave him a pop!
I heard him exclaim, as the clouds oh they thickened.
“Happy Yuletide to all! And keep me away from that Chicken!”
MERRY CHRISTMAS!