Merry Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads,

And I in my helmet caref’ly watched the bait,

And settled my brain for a long winter's wait —

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

Agent Moore sprang to the window to see what was the matter.

When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

He knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name:

"Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer and Vixen,

"On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Donner and Blitzen;

"To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
"Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas too:

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As Moore drew in his head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound;
He was dress'd all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnish'd with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys was flung on his back,

And he look'd 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 as white as the snow;

The stump of Havana he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face, and a little round belly

That shook when he laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly:

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of myself;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And fill'd all the stockings; then turn'd with a jerk,

As we sprang and surrounded him, with guns and black vests
And cries of “FBI! You’re under arrest!”
We got him on house-breaking, and slave labor too,
For he forced the Elves’ work to get presents to you,
And bypassing Customs, and smuggling gifts,
And those things like LEGOs? They came from shoplifts.
He financed it all through embezzlement and fraud;
This Santa Claus fellow considered himself god!
That night we brought down his criminal empire,
I’m just glad we got him without any gunfire.
We hand-cuffed and led him out to our SWAT van,
Across the yard full of snow and with a snowman.

But I heard him exclaim, as I read him his rights —

“Happy Christmas to all, I’ve had one heck of a night”.

by Benjamin Spear (©2008), who is intrigued by all things FBI.