’Twas the night before Christmas,
when along the whole wharf,
not a sailor was stirring,
‘cause it’s winter of course.
The ships were downrigged, in the cove with great care,
in hopes that no storms could get at them there.
The crews were nestled, all home in their beds,
while visions of windjamming danced in their heads.
When, out on the pier, there arose such a clatter,
a man stood in overalls, now hot chocolate spattered.
It was Sam, coming to check things out,
he’d stumbled on a line and let out a shout.
It was then he saw somebody up on the ship,
they’d been startled when that line had made Sam trip.
Sam got a quick look, the guy seemed dressed in all fur!
but the light wasn’t good, so he couldn’t be sure.
“Hey bud, you know that’s my ship!”
The guy turned and held a hushing finger to his lip.
Then the guy sprang off the pier, into a yawl boat of red,
shoved off right quick as into the night he fled.
But Sam heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”
Nothing was taken, when Sam went and checked therein,
but he found a fancy wrapped bottle aboard, and the label said “wind.”
