Christmas poem

'Twas the night before Christmas when in the depths of the house,

A creature was stirring and it wasn't a mouse;

A burglar had climbed through the window with care,

and gently put down a first foot on the stair.

He transferred his weight to test for a squeak.

The stair took his weight and didn’t complain.

All going well so he stepped up again.

Butch licked his hand, no guard dog him!

He carried on up, found his way in the glim,

the pale moon highlighting his massive physique

Old missus Thered, her instinct aware,

Had thought that she heard a tread on the stair.

‘Perhaps rain on the tiles?’ ‘That’s no rain, I’m clear.

Randolph Thered knows rain, dear,’

said her spouse, quietly. ‘Just listen, don’t speak.’

‘Hark,’ she whispered, ‘that sound on the roof,

could it be, can it be, is that a click of a hoof?’

He pushed back the blanket, no duvet for them.

Foot caught in the sheet, snagged in the hem.

He fell out of bed, he looked such a freak.

He turned himself over, looked up from the floor,

Who is this slowly opening the door?

‘Don’t make a sound, the children will hear,

They are so excited now that Christmas is near’

Said Randolf, before the stranger could speak.

‘What’s going on, you’re using the staircase?

You’ll miss your sherry we put in the fireplace

With your load of presents in that big sack,

shouldn’t you  be climbing down the chimney stack?

The children might see and think you’ve a cheek.’

‘I arrived on my sleigh,’ the big Santa said.

‘And there was a bird, searching for a bed.

Tonight your neighbours are due a new baby

The stork is asleep on your chimney, a bird B and B.

She bunged up your flue in a scorched fit of pique.

Ho, Ho, Ho, Happy Christmas.