And Now We Pause for an HNI Christmas Tradition...
[align=center]Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The camo was hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Matthews soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of back straps danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
When out by the tree stand there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny Rob deer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be that prick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Germ! now, Early! now, PT and Wiper!
On, Mobow! On, Rickmur! on Diesel and Viper!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry leaves that 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 gear, and St Matthews too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew back my bow, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Matthews came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
There were embers in the fireplace and they were really hot,
And I knew I could take him out easily in only one shot.
I stalked out on the lawn with broad heads in hand.
Stealthily moving, all part of my plan.
I took my aim and released one after another.[/align][align=center]I got all eight bucks down[/align][align=center]But off the roof, that’s gonna be a bother.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the camo, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, the reins he did jerk,
He couldn‘t figure it out, but there seemed to be a quirk.
I heard him exclaim madly as he figured it out,
"That PA Bowyer did it again!" is all he did shout.[/align][align=center][/align][align=left]adapted from CC Moore poem.[/align]