CROCHETERS CHRISTMAS EVE Poem
The stockings weren't hung by the chimney with care
'Cause the heels and toes had not a stitch there.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
Tripped over my yarn and fell down with a crash.
I thought it would wake both Dad and the boys.
And though I was tired, my brain a bit thick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
But what I heard then left me perplex-ed,
For not a name I heard was what I expected,
"Move, DyakCraft! Move, Lacis! Move, NaturallyCaron and Clover!
Move, Boye! Move Woolease! Move Ravelry --move over
Come now, you sheep will work out just fine!
I peered over the sill; what I saw was amazing,
Eight wooly sheep on my lawn all a-grazing.
And then, in a twinkle, I heard at the door
Santa's feet coming across my porch floor.
I rose from my knees and got back on my feet,
And as I turned 'round St. Nick I did meet.
He was dressed all in wool from his head to his toe,
And his clothes were hand-crocheted from above to below.
A bright Tunisian sweater he wore on his back,
His cap was a wonder of bobbles and lace
A beautiful frame for his rosy red face.
And the socks peeking over his boots were Argyle.
The back of his mittens bore an intricate cable.
And suddenly on one I espied a small label,
And I asked, "Hey, Nick, did you crochet all this stuff?"
He proudly replied, "Ho, ho, ho, yes I did.
I learned how to crochet when I was a kid."
He was chubby and plump, a quite well-dressed old man,
And I laughed to myself, for I'd thought up a plan.
I flashed him a grin and jumped up in the air,
And the next thing he knew, he was tied to a chair,
He spoke not a word, but looked in his lap
Where I'd laid my hook and yarn for a cap.
He quickly began crocheting, first one cap then two,
For the first time I thought I might really get through.
He put heels in the stockings and toes in some socks.
While I sat back drinking scotch on the rocks.
So quickly like magic his stitches they flew
That he was all finished by quarter to two.
He sprang for his sleigh when I let him go free,
And over his shoulder he looked back at me,
And I heard him exclaim as he sailed past the moon,
"Next year start your crocheting sometime around June!"
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*** note: this was a *knitters* poem, based on Clement Moore's "The Night Before Christmas," that I changed in 2005 to reflect crochet. I do not know who the original author of the knit version is/was. If you know, please let me know so I can give proper credit; thanks. :)