Twas the week before Christmas, when all over the web
Every blogger was writing, even me in my bed.
The pajamas were laundered and waiting for wear,
In hopes that more readers soon would appear.
Reliable readers nestled among my webstats,
While visions of typing on sites danced in their laps.
And pappa in his bed hat and I in my jams,
Had nestled our brains for more reader demands.
When out on the lawn there arose such weirdos,
I sprang from the bed to see what’s the thingo.
Away to the window I flew without m-dash,
Tore open the shutters and popped open the mash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen row
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the weirdos below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should pop up,
But the 2005 Weblog Awards and eight tiny laptops.
With the little old quivers, so familiar and snide,
I knew in a moment it might be bad vibes.
More rapid than broadband the covers they flipped,
And they whirred and broadcasted and called everyone whipped!
Now, Wizbang! Now, Liberal! Now, Conservative and Laurence!
On, Michelle! On, Cracker! On, Jay Tea with your two cents!
To the top of Awards! To the top of the heapies!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away, Sweeties!
As stories that before the wild hurricane flew,
When they met with an obstacle, soaked in a brew.
So up to the house-top the cursers they said,
They’d down other chimneys if it would get their sites read.
They were dressed all in flannel, from their heads to their toes,
And their legs were all tarnished with black cuppajoes,
A bundle of challenge, they flung open harddrives,
And the fuzz on their chins was as serious as hives.
Their cheeks, they were wired! Their mouses so merry!
Their eyes were like flat panels, their memories cherry!
Their droll little porta-desks were drawn up like sharp bows,
And they looked so intent just opening their prose!
The stump of a dream they held tight in their hopes,
And the smoke that encircled them was not that of dopes.
They had broad intentions and round little bellies,
That shook when they joked like hopes wearing Wellies!
The Awards were clubby and plump, right jolly they said,
And I laughed when I saw them, in spite of my dread!
A wink of the votes and a twist of a ruse,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to lose.
They spoke not a word, but went straight to their work,
And thanked all the bloggers, then turned with a jerk.
And laying their fingers aside of their prose,
And giving a nod, up the results promptly rose!
They soon got connected, to their teams gave some whistles!
And away they all wrasped with the frowns of typed thistles!
But I heard them exclaim, ‘ere they wrote out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all, a good write!”
“Twas the Night Before Christmas,” a poem also entitled, “A Visit from St. Nicholas,”
by “Clement Clarke Moore (1779 – 1863). Read the original poem and more about the author.