A steampunk Christmas
Twas the Night before Christmas and all through my house;
My mechanical trap was set, I’ll catch the blasted mouse!
The Stockings were hung over my coal burning furnace
But not too close, so that it wouldn’t burn us.
Martha was nestled all snug in her bed
Her bedtime automaton spinning over her head
I in my Pith Helmet, and Mamma in her Gogs;
Were snug in our bed , surrounded by Cogs;
When outside in the yard, I heard a loud a scream
The sound of a valve, emitting hot steam
I rose up to the porthole, and slid open the lock
Grabbed up my spyglass and buttoned my frock
When what to my spyglass outside did appear
But A steam-powered sled, and eight windup reindeer
With a goggled old pilot, with a beard so thick
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick
With locomotive speed, his contraption advanced
Gears turned, pipes sputtered as his automatons danced
Their mainsprings, their steam pipes, their flywheels
And pistons, their gauges and valves and Gizmos where the fuel was mixin’
On top of the smokestacks! On top of the wall!
I heard loud and clear, the turbine’s loud call!
As soot in the wind from the stovepipe does fly
He met with a windmill and took to the sky
Up to the Housetops, above those asleep
He landed in the world of the chimneysweeps
Then with a screech, he was up on the roof
And I heard the clanking of 16 metal hooves
As I was uncocking my pistol and was turning around
Down the chimney he came with a bound
He was dressed all in khaki, with warm furry trim
And from his aviator to his gaiters soot covered him.
A bundle of toys was kept in his sack
That was slung by a canvas strap on his back
His eyes were all goggled, his face half concealed
As if his nose was a thermometer with the mercury congealed
His droll little mouth drawn up like an socket
And his pipe spewed smoke like a congreave rocket
He had a round face and a stove for a tum
That shook when he laughed and echoed like a drum
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old sort
That I laughed when I saw him, with booming report
He lifted his goggles and turned his head
I put down my pistol, I had nothing to dread
He tipped his Astrakhan and went to his task
Pith Helmets and carbides and a brand new hip flask
Then firing a grapple-line up my flue
He zipped up the chimney and bade me adieu
He sprang to his flying machine, and the steam engine wheezed
And the reindeer lept into the cold winter breeze;
His final words stuck in my head
“You’ve gotten your presents… Now go back to bed!”
