Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not one single fight
The stockings were hung by the campers with care
In the hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there
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The campers were nestled in snug sleeping bags
While visions of sugar plums were dancing in cags
And mum in her T4 and I in my bus
Had just settled our brains for a long winters ZZZZZ
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When out in the campsite there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bunk to see what was the matter
Away to the window I flew like a Hind
Tore open the curtains and threw up the blind
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The moon on the breast of the new fallen reveller
Gave the lustre of mid-day to she who’d fell over
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a miniature whiskey – no glass, “Oh dear!”
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In a face like chopped liver, her eyes lively and quick
Stared in amazement, “It must be St Nick”
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name
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“Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On Cupid! On, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of that T4! To the top of it’s roof
Now dash away! Dash away! Give it some hoof!”
(Google it if you fancy reading the original version)
with apologies to anon
The Wandering Wallys 