A Poem For Writers At Christmas


’Twas the night before Christmas
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Except for the mouse

And the hand on the mouse
And the arm on the hand
To highlight the words
In a vision so grand

That the night before Christmas
Was as good night as any
To write a few words
And if possible many

Because presents were wrapped
And the family in bed
The carollers silent
And the pets were all fed

Fingers flew over the keys
And letters became words
So intent was the writer
Santa entered unheard

Nor was he noticed
’Til he cleared his throat
The writer turned to the chimney
To see a bright red coat

Under a bushy white beard
And over bright red trousers
All the writer could think
And could say was, “Wowsers.”

Said Santa to the writer,
“You’re up at this time?”
Said the writer to Santa,
“For writing, it’s prime.”

“It’s love and adventure,
Smart women, brave men,
With heroes and villains.
I’ve been at it since ten.”

“If you’re not too busy
Would you read a few pages?”
Santa adjusted his sack
Admitting, “I haven’t read in ages.”

“But just at the moment
I’ve a few things to do
I need to get on
And head back up the flue.”

“So here’s some presents
For those in the house
Eyes back on the screen
And hand on the mouse.”

“There’s still a few hours
Left in the night
Happy Christmas to you
And continue to write!”

And with those kind words
He disappeared from sight
And the writer whispered back,
“And to all a good night.”

Happy holidays, everyone!


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