The night before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all up in my house,
the kids more than crazy, a Mum that’s gone scouse.

The stockings were hung, on door handles with care,
good luck to Santa, not sure how he’s getting up there.
As if the kids were nestled and snug in their beds,
nope, they’re bouncing off walls and out of their heads!
Mum tops off her wine, Dad’s on the rum,
with the TV for company and same old re-runs.
When it’s gone quiet and still and they think they’re in for a win,
the girl can’t sleep, she shouts with a grin,

Dad sprang from the sofa to see what was all up with the kid,
the big one thought to reveal, the Santa cam that he’d hid.
Then when midnight was long gone and they’d finally passed out,
it was time to tip-toe around, avoid bangs and clouts.
Shuffling here and settling there, the dog gazed on, watching the pair.

Then they whispered good nights and made the slug up to bed,
knowing their pillows would only frequent their heads.
The glow from the fire, the twinkle of lights,
such a wondering feel, to this wintering night.
Up in their beds, all snuggled and warm,
only to be restless and wait for the dawn.
Then in a startle, Dad hears on the roof,
the dancing and tapping of each little hoof.
A quick prod to wake Mum and point overhead,
“do you hear that wind? Oh, the damage I dread”.

And in the dark winter glow of the moon up above,
Santa came down the chimney with only a small little shove.
Mum listened so carefully,
hoping, he wouldn’t make much of a mess,
Dad’s humming out snores as he sleeps away all the stress.

Mum hunkers back down in hopes of some sleep,
and as she doses and dreams, she hears a clanging of feet.
A whoosh and a gallop, with all of his mite, faster and faster with a blinding of light,
in the distance a faint holler, as he takes to his flight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”.