Here's to all the Last Minute Crafters/Sewers...

'Twas the night before Christmas,
when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
not even my spouse;

The stockings weren't hung yet,
as they were still where
I was frantically stitching them,
pulling my hair;

Quite unlike my children,
each snug in a bed,
While visions of mattresses danced in my head,

In my sweat pants and T-shirt and old baseball cap,
Drinking triple espressos,
no time for a nap;

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tripped over the tote bag, then threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the look of metallics to objects below,
When, what to my sleep deprived eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

Gliding like silk thread his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

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

As floss scraps 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 toys, and St. Nicholas too.

Then, losing my needle, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I let my thread fall, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas 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;
I snatched up my stitching and flung it far back,
For fear of the soot on his clothes and 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;

He looked like the chart I had bought for the reason
Of stitching it up for the holiday season.
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 to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
To fill all the stockings, but turned with a jerk.
"And where are the stockings?" He looked down his nose.
I handed them over, and blushed like a rose.

He finished his work, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Get done early next year, don't wait 'til the last night!"