Twas the night before Christmas, when all across the web,
Not a blogger was blogging, not even Sardi cuddling with Jen,
The postings were posted on the Rain with care,
In hope that they soon would be featured there;
The readers were off line all snug in their beds,
With visions of bonus points dancing in their heads;
Brenda in her t-shirt and I in my jockeys,
Had just settled down for a long winters nap,
When out in the hall, down in the den, there arose such a clatter.
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter,
Away to Windows I flew like a flash,
Clicked open stand-by and fired up the monitor,
There the screen as it struggled to glow,
Gave luster of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering 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,
More rapid than DSL this IM image came,
From the speakers on the shelf,
He whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Billy! Now Bertha! Now Sally and Melissa!
On George! On Steve! On Roberts and Gary!
To the top of the message! To the top of the monitor!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
There on the screen in very bold type, was a message, not tripe.
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
Bill and Brenda
My apologias to Clement Clark Moore (1779-1863),
I don’t have any friends named Dasher or Dancer, Comet or Cupid, Doner or Blitzen.