A Visit from St. Nicholas or The Night Before Christmas

A Visit from St. Nicholas or The Night Before Christmas By Clement Clarke Moore

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

A Visit from St. Nicholas or The Night Before Christmas

Gift with the wrappings off

Gift with the wrappings off by Mary Elizabeth Counselman

Oh, what can you do with a Christmas pup
in a little apartment three flights up?
He prowls.

And whenever the landlord happens by
with a “Rent’s due!” gleam in his fishy eye,
He Howls!

Or whenever you dress for a hurry date,
with a frantic prayer that you won’t be late,
He “helps”!

Or when guests sit down in the rocking chair
and neglect to see if a tail is there.
He yelps!

And if you protest that he isn’t hurt
and call him out from beneath your skirt,
He balks.

Or perhaps there’s rain, or a two-foot snow,
or it’s three a.m. – then he’s got to go
For walks!

And the place you pick for his bed at night
is the one sure place that he doesn’t quite

Oh, what can you do with a Christmas pup
in a little apartment three flights up?

Gift with the wrappings off

fingers by rupi kaur



the most important conversations
you’ll have are with your fingers

when they nervously graze hers
for the first time during dinner
the thrill of raising goosebumps on
her breasts while unbuttoning her shirt

on days you are angry,
they’ll ball into fists
and she’ll cry,
but as they shake
for forgiveness
she’ll see what
apologies look like

and when one
of you is dying
in a hospital bed at 65,
your hands’ll grip hers
to say things words
can’t describe

fingers by rupi kaur

i will always be scared i am by rupi kaur

i will always be scared i am
not beautiful enough for you
or if i am beautiful at all
i will change what i’m
wearing five times before i
see you wondering which pair
of jeans will make my body
more tempting to undress
tell me
is there anything i can do
to make you think, her
she is so striking she makes
my body forget it has knees
write it in a letter and address it
to all the insecure parts of me
my uneven fingers my thin legs
your voice alone drives me to tears
yours telling me i am beautiful
yours telling me i am enough

i will always be scared i am by rupi kaur