12/20/2017
(I did not write this. It's from a forum I subscribe to) Everyone I've shared this with has laughed . I hope it brings you a smile too! Lynn
A Knitter’s Night Before Christmas
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all around me
Was unfinished knitting not under the tree.
The stockings weren’t hung by the chimney with care
‘cause the heels and the toes had not a stitch there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds
But I’d not finished caps for their wee little heads.
Dad was asleep; he was no help at all,
And the sweater for him was a dozen stitches too small.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I put down my needles to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I few like a flash,
Tripped over my basket and fell down with a crash.
The tangle of yarn that lay deep as the snow
Reminded me how much I still had to go.
Out on my lawn, I heard such a noise
I thought it would surely wake Dad and the boys.
And though I was tired, my brain a bit thick,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
But what I heard then left me perplexed-ted,
For not a name I heard was what I expected.
“Move Ashford; move Lopi; move Addie and Clover,
Move Reynolds; move Starmore; move Fraylic, move over!
Paton, don’t circle round, stand in line.
Come now, you sheep, work with me this time.
I know this is hard Lykke, it’s just your first year,
But I’d hate to go back to eight tiny reindeer.”
I peered over the still; what I saw was amazing:
Eight woolly sheep on my lawn all a ‘grazing.
And then in a twinkle, I heard at our door
Santa’s feet stomping across the porch floor.
I rose from my knees and got back on my feet
And as I turned round, Saint Nick I did meet.
He was dressed all in wool from his head to his toe
And his clothes were hand knitted from above to below.
A bright Fair Isle sweater he wore on his back,
And his toys were all stuffed in an Aran knit sack.
His cap was a wonder of bobbles and lace,
A beautiful frame for his rosy red face.
The scarf round his neck could have stretched for a mile,
And his socks were red, green and white Argyle.
The back of his mittens bore an intricate cable
And suddenly on one I spied a small label:
SC was duplicate-stitched on the cuff,
And I asked, “Hey, Nick, did you knit all this stuff?”
He proudly replied, “Ho-ho-ho, yes I did.
I learned how to knit when I was a kid.”
He was chubby and plump, 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 some needles and yarn for a cap.
He quickly began knitting, first one cap then two.
For the first time this month I thought I’d get through.
He put heels on the stockings and toes in some socks
While I sat back and smiled, drinking Scotch on the rocks!
So quickly like magic his needles 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 Christmas knitting before June!”
