The Night Before Christmas is well known poem by Clement C. Moore. Always told at the holidays, the poem can be found everywhere. There are so many picture books and books of The Night Before Christmas, it is unimaginable. Whether found in Christmas cards or advent calendars, it almost always the same poem except with different illustrations. Some people have adapted it and made it their own, I’m not the first. I have adapted the poem to suit the chicken lover of the 21st century, The poem is also kid friendly and will make them laugh so here is my adapted version of the poem The Night Before Christmas.
‘Twas the before Christmas,
when through the hen house
Not a creature was stirring,
not even a louse;
The stockings where hung
by the coop door with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas
soon would be there;
The chicks were nestled
all snug in their nests
While visions of mealworms
danced in their heads;
And Ma in her plumage,
and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains
for a long winter’s nap,
When out in the run
there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my perch
to see what was the matter.
Away to the coop door
I flew like a flash,
Losing my footing
and spilling the mash.
The moon on the breast
of the new-fallen snow
Gave a lustre of midday
to objects below,
When what to my wondering
eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh
and eight tiny fowl,
With a little old driver
so lively and quick,
I new in a moment
it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles
his bantams they came,
As he whistled, and crowed,
and called them by name:
“Now, Silkie! now, Seabright!
now, Phoenix and Ko-Shamo!
On, Cochin! on, Cornish!
on, Dutchy and Chabo!
To the top of the porch!
to the top of the wall!
Now fly away! fly away!
fly away, all!
Dry leaves that before
the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle,
mount to the sky,
So up to the coop top
the bantams they flew,
With the sleigh full of scratch,
and St. Nicholas too —
And then, in a twinkling,
I heard on the roof
The scratching and pawing
of each little claw.
As I drew in my beak,
and was turning around,
Across the run St. Nicholas
came with a bound.
He was dressed all in feather,
from his crest to his claw,
And his cloak was all tarnished
with hay and dried poop;
A bundle of treats
he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a feed peddler,
just opening his sack.
His eyes—how they twinkled!
his dimples, how merry!
His fluffy cheeks were like roses,
his wattles like cherries!
His droll little beak
was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin
was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe
he held tight in his beak,
And the smoke, it encircled
his crest like a wreath;
He had a broad face
and a round little belly
That shook when he laughed,
like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and fat
a right jolly old cock,
And I crowed 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 peep,
but went straight to his work,
Filling the stockings,
then turned with a jerk,
And laying his wing
aside of his beak,
And giving a nod,
down the ladder he dove.
He sprang to his sleigh,
to his team gave a crow,
And away they all flew
like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim,
ere he drove out of sight—
“Merry Christmas
to all,
And to all a good
night!”
