Twas the Night Before Christmas – A Roofer's Tale

By John Kenney, Cotney Consulting Group.

Check out RCS influencer John Kenney's version of the traditional Christmas poem!

Editor's note: This is a modification of the original poem by Clement C. Moore.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all 'cross the roofs,
Not a shingle was stirring, not even in the hoofs;
The gutters were cleaned with the utmost of care,
In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there;

The roofers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of shingles danced in their heads;
And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,

When out on the roof there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the ladder I flew like a flash,
Tore open the hatch and climbed up in a dash.

The moon on the crest of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to rooftops below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
More rapid than hawks his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, Shingle! now, Flashing! now, Gutter and Spout!
On, Chimney! on, Ridgecap! on, Drip-edge and Drain!
To the peak of the roof! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of tools, and Saint Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the shingles
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Saint Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in red, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of shingles he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a roofer just opening his pack.

His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a round little belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed 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 fixed all the shingles; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang 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!"