* Twas the night before Christmas on Wikimedia *
(Variation on "A Visit from St. Nicholas", written in the year 1823 by
Clement Clarke Moore)
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the wikis,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a bot;
The stockings were hung by the talk pages with care,
In hopes that Jimbo soon would be there;
The students were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of barnstars danc'd in their heads;
And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap —
When out at the village pump there arose such a clatter,
James Alexander sprang from bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the wiki I flew like a flash,
Opened a window, and logged in, in a dash.
What to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and bold,
I knew in a moment it must be Jimbo.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of barnstars — and Jimbo 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 Jimbo came with a bound:
He was dress'd all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnish'd with ashes and soot;
A bundle of barnstars was flung on his back,
And he look'd like a peddler just opening his pack.
And I laugh'd 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 fill'd all the stockings; then turn'd with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprung 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."
Merry Christmas, Wikimedians. (:
Pine
*This is an Encyclopedia* <https://www.wikipedia.org/>
*One gateway to the wide garden of knowledge, where lies The deep rock of
our past, in which we must delve The well of our future,The clear water we
must leave untainted for those who come after us,The fertile earth, in
which truth may grow in bright places, tended by many hands,And the broad
fall of sunshine, warming our first steps toward knowing how much we do not
know.*
*—Catherine Munro*