Twas the Night time Earlier than Christmas — Chickens Version!

With apologies to Clement C. Moore. The next ought to show to all the kids on the market that Santa visits good chickens, too. I’ve modified a number of the phrases, however I’m certain you all understand how this poem goes…

’Twas the night time earlier than Christmas, when all via the henhouse, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse within the feed baggage;

The stockings have been hung by the window with care, in hopes that some recent corn quickly could be there;

And Ginny the goose was nestled all comfortable in her mattress, whereas visions of earthworms danced in her head;

And my canine in her ‘kerchief, and I in my lack-of-a-cap, had simply settled down for an extended winter’s hibernation;

When out within the meadow there arose such a clatter, the rooster sprang from his roost to see what was the matter;

Away to the home windows he flew like a flash, however he forgot he couldn’t get via the window and hit it and went smash;

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, gave the lustre of shivering to the moulting hen within the barn under;

When, what to my questioning eyes ought to seem, however a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny caribou,

With a bit of previous driver, so full of life and fast, I knew in a second it have to be St. Nick;

Extra fast than eagles his coursers they got here, and he whistled, and shouted, and referred to as them by title;

“Now, Delaware! now, Dominique! now, Dorking and d’Uccles! On, Gauloise! on Houdan! on, Jaerhoen and Pickles!

[What? you try finding a better rhyme for d’Uccles]

To the highest of the coop! To the highest of the barn! Now sprint away! Sprint away! Sprint away all!”

As dry leaves that earlier than the wild tornado fly, after they meet with an impediment, mount to the sky;

So as much as the barn-top the coursers they flew, with the sleigh stuffed with toys, and St. Nicholas too;

After which, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of every little moose;

As I drew in my head, and was turning round, down the chimney—maintain on—why is there a chimney within the rooster coop? 

St. Nicholas got here with a certain;

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, and his garments have been all tarnished with bedding and poop;

A bundle of corn he had flung on his again, and he regarded like a peddler simply opening his pack;

His eyes how they twinkled! His dimples how merry! His cheeks have been like roses, his nostril like a berry!

And a snippy little hen determined he regarded like a potential meal, she flew up and pecked at his face, so he caged her up so he might go about his enterprise;

He had a broad face and a bit of spherical tummy, it shook when he laughed like a bagful of nummy;

He was chubby and plump, a proper jolly previous elf, and I laughed after I noticed him, regardless of myself; {ahem}

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, quickly gave me to know that geese shouldn’t eat bread;

He spoke not a phrase, however went straight to his work, and stuffed all of the hoppers then turned with a jerk;

To that imply little cockerel he gave solely coal, a lump that was uninteresting and boring and chilly;

And laying his finger apart of his nostril, and giving a nod, out the coop door he went;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his workforce gave a whistle, away all of them flew just like the down of a hatchling;

However I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, “Merry chickens for all, and to all night time!”