"Twas the night before Christmas"

MWH1967

The Cook
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Hey, even the big kids can revisit.....


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'Twas the Night Before Christmas
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(or A Visit from St. Nicholas)
by Clement Clarke Moore
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'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
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The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.
And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.
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When out on the roof there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
tore open the shutter, and threw up the sash.
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The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
gave the lustre of midday to objects below,
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.
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With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Now Dasher! Now Dancer!
Now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid!
On, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch!
To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away!
Dash away all!"

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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. Nicholas too.
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And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

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He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
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His eyes--how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth 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 teeth,
and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
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He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
and I laughed 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.
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He 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.
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He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
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Fmart322

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Same to you as well, and to all my Cowboys brothers and sisters out there. Let's hope this is finally our year.
 

MWH1967

The Cook
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Thanks..If nothing else read it to your kids.. It's a classic:D
 

SDogo

Not as good as I once was but as good once as I ev
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Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the stands
Not a person was cheering, not one single fan.
They all held their breath in the brisk night air,
And wondered if Santa would bypass them this year.

Their faces were painted all silver and blue,
With streaks of flesh-color from a stray tear or two.
And mom in her Nine jersey, and me in my cap,
Hoped our team would not go for that long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn I heard the snow splatter
And sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I 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 my wondering eyes should appear,
But a news paper predicting another bad year.

With a flick of his pen, and his sharp-edged wit,
The writer predicted the team would just quit.
He called to my memory Christmases past,
And he smirked and insisted, “This winning won’t last!”

"Now Phillips! now, Romo! now, Garrett and Witten!
And Newman, and Spencer, they’ll all be a-quittin’!
So don’t get your hopes up, you silly old fan,
These guys will collapse and disappoint you again!"

With dry lips and wet eyes, I read on with a sigh,
Who’s this fool anyway? Just a regular guy.
Not Nostradamus anymore than I.
So I rolled up that paper and started a fire.

And then with a sigh, I said to St. Nick
Come rescue this season and come do it quick.
Surely you’ve room in that magical sleigh,
To bring us a victory this coming Sunday.

We will leave the roof open so you can get in,
And we’ll greet you with shouting and clamoring din.
And we’ll hear you exclaim as you take off again,
“Merry Christmas to all…except you Commanders.”
 

Fmart322

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That's a great version.
God I hope it's not true but believe me, I'm prepared for it.
This team won't fool me again.
 

Boyzmamacita

CowBabe Up!!!
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CowboysZone ULTIMATE Fan
SDogo;3170903 said:
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the stands
Not a person was cheering, not one single fan.
They all held their breath in the brisk night air,
And wondered if Santa would bypass them this year.

Their faces were painted all silver and blue,
With streaks of flesh-color from a stray tear or two.
And mom in her Nine jersey, and me in my cap,
Hoped our team would not go for that long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn I heard the snow splatter
And sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I 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 my wondering eyes should appear,
But a news paper predicting another bad year.

With a flick of his pen, and his sharp-edged wit,
The writer predicted the team would just quit.
He called to my memory Christmases past,
And he smirked and insisted, “This winning won’t last!”

"Now Phillips! now, Romo! now, Garrett and Witten!
And Newman, and Spencer, they’ll all be a-quittin’!
So don’t get your hopes up, you silly old fan,
These guys will collapse and disappoint you again!"

With dry lips and wet eyes, I read on with a sigh,
Who’s this fool anyway? Just a regular guy.
Not Nostradamus anymore than I.
So I rolled up that paper and started a fire.

And then with a sigh, I said to St. Nick
Come rescue this season and come do it quick.
Surely you’ve room in that magical sleigh,
To bring us a victory this coming Sunday.

We will leave the roof open so you can get in,
And we’ll greet you with shouting and clamoring din.
And we’ll hear you exclaim as you take off again,
“Merry Christmas to all…except you Commanders.”

I'm impressed, SDogo.

Merry Christmas.
 
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