Twas the night before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
not a creature was stirring, ‘cept me and my mouse.
I was at the computer and out on the ‘net,
when I heard a commotion, I’ll never forget.

I looked out the window at the roof of my friend,
that myth that they tell is not true and should end.
I tell you the truth, it’s the truth what I say,
Old Santa’s not fat and he uses no sleigh.

He rides an old ten speed with a trailer in tow,
in the trailer’s the bag full of toys, don’t you know.
He was clad in red spandex, which showed to my eyes,
a really fit Kringle, with thunderous thighs.

His head bore a helmet of red and of white,
he went down the chimney and out of my sight.
I raced down the stairs to a place I might hide,
’cause I had me no chimney, he’d ride right inside.

The door creaked as it opened and he rode to the tree,
Santa parked that old ten speed not five feet from me.
He put down the kickstand and grabbed the gift sack,
and he went to the tree and he never looked back.

I hefted his bike, ’twas as light as could be.
The drivetrain was of magical componentry.
It had nine speeds forward, in the tenth it would fly.
Oh my how I longed to just give it a try.

Now Santa did see me check out his trick ride,
the look on my face made him tingle inside.
The bargain was simple, we both understood.
He’d have coffee and Cliff Bars while I spun through the ‘hood.

I threw my right leg over Santa’s bad steed,
and I went through the door and was picking up speed.
It shifted so smoothly and it handled with ease,
I shifted to tenth and flew over the trees.

My heart raced and pounded, on this you can bet,
as I caught up and passed me a passenger jet.
I spun Santa’s cranks and I had so much fun,
that I circled the world and was where I’d begun.

With a flick of the lever I found the ninth gear,
and I landed with ease on the street that was near.
I rode up the sidewalk and into my place,
and there sat old Santa, a grin on his face.

He loaded his bag and he left, don’t you see,
he had many more stops, other places to be.
I was warm and all fuzzy and full of good cheer,
as Santa had stoked me for Christmas next year.

I trudged up the stairs and on into my bed,
my ride ’round the globe was still fresh in my head.
Old Santa’s a rider, not unlike ourselves,
he trains in a paceline, with them speedy old elves.

With this tale comes a lesson, and this I do swear,
of his waistline and fitness, old Santa does care.
Instead of that milk and those cookies of goo,
this year leave some coffee and a bagle, or two.

And so ends this poem of a Christmas that’s past,
with a wish of good cheer, I hope it will last.
Merry Christmas to all and to all I will say’
have a happy new year and a safe one, I pray.

– Author unknown

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