A Christmas Poem By Clement Clarke Moore - Adapted by Erin Heisz, News, Major Peewee Rep, U12-U13 (PeeWee), 2017-2018 (Stratford Minor Hockey Association)

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Dec 24, 2017 | THeinbuch | 290 views
A Christmas Poem By Clement Clarke Moore - Adapted by Erin Heisz
A fun Christmas/Hockey story! 

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the ice 
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Heisz;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Holloway soon would be there; 
The Middegaals were nestled all snug in their beds, 
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; 
And Libby in her 'kerchief, and Dale in his cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, 
Richie sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. 
Away to the window he flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and goin’,
Richie knew in a moment it must be St. Owen.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; 
"Now, DUIKER! now, DUKER! now, GOULDY and KADEN! 
On, COLE! on SAMMY! on, JAKER and AYDEN!

To the top of the porch! 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 toys, and St. Holloway too.
And then, in a twinkling, Richie heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As he drew in his hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Holloway came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
St. Holloway handled those toys with such love,
Like Pars and Kief cradling the puck in a glove.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His locks had a very Van Straaten like flow,
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 little round belly,
That shook like Pearcey’s fist after a breakaway celly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And Richie laughed when he saw him, in spite of himself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave him to know he had nothing to dread;
St. Owen spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; 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 Richie heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!

Merry Christmas Warriors!! 

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