Last Updated on December 18, 2020 by scottkandh
by Clement Clarke Moore
A very different version of Twas the Night before Christmas that I’m sure you haven’t heard before modified to Star Trek style.
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the ship
Not a creature was stirring, not even a chip from a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the console with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.
The crew were nestled all snug in their quarters,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And Carol in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the port bow there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the Captain’s chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the main viewing screen I flew like a flash,
Shouted, “On Screen and threw up the dash!
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
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 McCoy! now, Riker! now, Sulu and Chekov!
On, Worf! On, Data! on Yeoman and Nurse Chapel!
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 Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the ship’s ceiling
The prancing, pawing, and feeling of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas 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.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
Make no mistake it was Spock, His ears how pointy.
This was my number #1 appointee.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little brow was drawn up like a frow,
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, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
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.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk.
Gave me a Vulcan salute, and then laid 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 I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Live Long and Prosper, and to all a Good-Night!”
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