Last Christmas I got inspired and turned the story of who wrote "Night Before Christmas" into an anapestic poem going from 1806 to 1900. If I'm lucky and inspired, maybe I can finish it this year.
The Story of the Writing of "The Night Before Christmas"
1806
It was finished at last, Henry noted with pride,
As he sanded the words, check'd to see if they'd dried.
Was it "jirk" with an "i" or perhaps with an "e?"
Never mind, he decided, 'twas only a flea.
So what if the reindeer names stumbled a bit?
Using names of the horses would make them a hit.
Which remind'd him Dancer's new bridle was loose.
It might better fit Cupid. That horse was a moose!
My, but Dunder and Blixem were beautifully match'd.
The gold of their tails glow'd like ducks newly hatch'd.
That was Charlie's hard work earning him Santa's best
It was up to his father to handle the rest.
And the boy would be pleas'd, Henry smil'd as he thought
Of the pup from his sister quite recently bought.
Stretching tall as the stairs o'er his head let him stand,
Henry pick'd up his parchment and brush'd off the sand.
Stooping low through the archway he left his snug den,
In delight to return to his family again.
They were just as he'd left them short hours ago,
Mama's laughter, like music, hung o'er the tableau.
With Eliza, the babe, speeding fast toward the door
Follow'd closely by six year old Jane with a roar.
Of course Sidney and Edwin were arguing loud
With their four year old sister, who wouldn't be cow'd.
There was Charlie now singing an old carol sweet,
Entertaining a neighbor though dead on his feet.
As the Christmas song made its way straight to his heart
Henry heard his lost angels lend voice to each part.
Through Cornelia's sweet descant, not long ago gone,
Came the baby notes warbled with Henry Welles' yawn.
While their mother, sweet Sally, her voice join'd in praise
Of the Christmas Eve infant whose star soon would blaze.
She would bless his new fam'ly, and watch o'er the fate
Of their still earth-bound babes, Henry Welles and dear Cate.
"For all of these children, for Caty's own eight,
"For these all," Henry mus'd, "Santa's poem I'll relate."
"Gather round me, dear children, and see in my hand
"Explanations aplenty of what Santa's planned."
In an instant the noise blew the chamber apart
As the welcome afforded touched Henry's warm heart.
"It's a poem, darling Papa! I know it's a poem,
"You've not writ us a new one since last you were home!"
Grabbing babe with one hand and a vase with the other,
Henry smil'd at the chaos and kiss'd her big brother.
Just as smoke thru the air will be briskly dispatch'd,
From his arms babe and pot were with deftness quick snatch'd.
With a shake to the paper now crinkled all round
Henry struck a fine posture like Genius renown'd.
From his eye gave a wink to his wife as she pass'd,
And a pat to the child who must still be held fast.
"'Twas the night before Christmas," he started to say,
As the shouts and the laughter began to give way
"And all through the house," he continued so low
That the children stay'd quiet as mice in a row.
1816-1900