'Twas
‘Bout a Week Before Christmas
or an Account of a Rail
Visit from St. Nicholas
2003, by Dakin Morehouse, with apologies to
Major Henry Livingston Jr. and Clement Clarke Moore
‘Twas ‘bout a week before Christmas, at the
old railroad station
And neither the coach nor the depot, escaped decoration.
The cookies and cider were laid out with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were all-aboard, instead of in their beds
With visions of toy trains, and dolls in their heads.
Mama wrapped in her kerchief, and I in my snug cap
Were dragged to the station, by the kids, from our nap.
When alongside the track there rose such a clatter
I jumped in my coach seat to see what was the matter.
My face to the window, I looked out to see where,
And cupping my hands, I searched the chill air
The moon was just rising above the new fallen snow
Reflecting off mountains, and the iron rails below,
When what to my wondering eyes should I see,
Coming right through the coach door - that close to me!
‘Twas that jolly ol’ bearded
man, so lively and quick,
And I knew in a flash - it must be St. Nick!
The smiling conductor welcomed him onto the train,
Where, thanking them all, he called them by name;
“Thanks to the engineer,
the conductor, and track-men too,
Who arranged this train ride so I could meet with you -
Down the track at the station, for some cider and cookies,
Where we’ll talk about toys and other Christmas goodies.”
The dry leaves before the old engine flew high,
As they met the cow catcher and blew to the sky;
So on to the old station the little train rolled,
With all the kiddies aboard, and St. Nick so old.
And then in a twinkling, I heard the shrill peal -
The grinding of breaks against each round iron wheel.
When I jumped from my seat, my feet hit the ground,
As St. Nick went for the station, with a leap and a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes had some traces of the little engine’s soot,
But the bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
Were for opening on Christmas, and not before that!
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;
With the stump of a pencil he kept clenched in his teeth
He wrote on a long list, coiled, 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.
But a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know - I had nothing to dread.
Laughing and joking, as he’s
known once each year,
He talked with the kiddies about toys, and good cheer,
Then hearing the “All aboard” he put a finger by his nose
And jogging up the train steps, back into the coach he rose.
He darted inside and, to the crew gave a whistle,
And away they all roared amid pine fronds and mistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he rode out of sight,
“ Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”
.., ...,, .,,,... ..,... .., . ,. .
_!!_
( o )
////\\\\ Empire State RailWay Museum StationMaster
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