Twas the Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before a Steampunk Christmas
And all through the Castle and Keep
Not a creature was stirring
Not even the monsters dared make a peep.

The tree was trimmed
but underneath it looked so bare
waiting for presents
soon to be placed there

The guards were asleep,
in their barracks so quiet.
A couple of Mickey Finns,
insured there would be no riot.

The ice box was full
of good food and beer.
Tomorrow there shall be
lots of good cheer.

And I was in my laboratory
beneath the dungeon so deep,
assembling a child bicycle.
Tonight I would not get much sleep.

Bells rang, siren screeched.
Up periscope to take a peek.
Was it taxman, the swat team?
Was my electric bill over do this week?

Up to the ramparts,
I ran in a mad dash.
Out in the distances,
I saw a bright flash.

I pulled down my goggles,
to shield my eyes from the light.
The glare on the snow was so bright
it blinded my sight.

From the ramparts I saw
such a magnificent sight,
A sleigh pulled by 8 rocket powered reindeer
flew through the night.

The pilot of this missile
this airship dancing on flame,
threw levers and called orders
to the reindeer by name.

Up Rivet, up Washer,
Bank left Pan-head, and Lug Nut.
now right Cross-threat and Grommet,
fly on Set screw, and Wing Nut.

Only one person I knew,
could drive such a thing,
good old Robot Saint Nick,
had come once again.

Through the still of the night
I heard that jolly pilot call
Up to the turret,
now to the top of the hall
There are so many presents
we must deliver them all!

Just when it seemed
they would crash into the wall,
he pushed buttons, threw levers.
and turbo charged them all.

From above I could hear the pounding
of each mechanical reindeer hoof.
Followed by the noise
of a pallet full of toys hitting the roof.

I raced and I ran to the great tree in the Hall,
but I found he wasted not a moment at all.
The gleam of silver hands flashing in the lights,
his bright cheerful garments were a pleasing sight.

A wave of a little vacuum
that made so much huffing and puffing,
all the soot and ashes on his clothes
were gone as if sucked into nothing.

A smoke stack rose from his shoulder by his ear,
up and over his metal hair.
The puffs of white steam made crystals wreaths
in the cold winter’s air.

His eyes were glowing,
his brass cheeks gleaming.
He was quite a pleasing construction
this mechanical being.

There was a life in those eyes
and that shiny metal face,
and the room filled with mellow laughter
as he rushed about the place.

The present he placed with precision and care
he gave the room one sweep of his gaze
turned and bowed
and then with speed that left me in a daze

With pallet jack and bag
into the chimney he went.
He pulled on a cable
and was raised by a winch.

With quick motions he stowed
everything away
and with a hop he bounded
into his sleigh.

With a blast on a steam whistle
he turned and waved.
Then with a rocket blast
he sped on his way.

It’s been said many times
but could be no more truer than tonight,
Merry Christmas to all
and to all a good night.

Stay strong, write on, Merry Christmas.      Professor Hyram Voltage