`Twas the Night Before Salemas
Twas the month before Christmas
And all through the house,
Not a creature was clicking,
Save for the mouse,
The wish lists were posted
On Netscape withcare,
In hopes Mom and Dad
Soon would click there,
The children were nestled
Having snugly signed off,
While visions of eToys
Were dancing aloft,
And Mama on AOL
Whilst I was Exploring
We soon turned it off
'Cause chat rooms were boring,
When on my computer
There arose such a clatter,
I checked my e-mail
To see what was the matter,
Away to my Windows
I flew like a flash,
Entered my password
And checked my e-stash,
The moon, on the breast
Of the digital snow,
Gave a luster of midday
To icons below,
When what to my
Wondering eyes should appear,
But a screen-saver sleigh
And eight tiny reindeer
,
With a little old sprite
So light and so quick,
I knew in a moment
It must be St. Click,
More rapid the
Pentium III his deer came,
And he whistled and shouted
And called them by name,
"Now fogdog, now eBay,
Now YardMart, J.Crew,
On CNET, on eToys,
On Lands' End and Yahoo,
"Through the Net-surfing portal,
And past the fire wall,
Now dash away, dash away,
Dash away all!"
So to the hard drive,
The coursers they flew
With a diskful of toys,
And St. Clickalaus, too.
And then, in a twinkling,
Came from the sound card,
A pawing of hoofs
Which threw me off-guard
As I sat there transfixed, so mesmerized
I watched as St. Click soon digitized
He appeared in bright red with great resolution,
And I knew I had found my Christmas solution,
A bundle from eToys
Was slung on his back, and he
Wanted my plastic
To unlock his sack.
His eyes, how they twinkled,
His nose, a sensation.
His cheeks were like roses,
It was great animation.
He had a broad face
And a little round belly,
Which blinked, "Click here
For Welch's Grape Jelly."
He was chubby and plump,
But left space for ads
Click here for shirts,
Click there for plaids,
A wink of his eye
That was really quite funny,
Gave me to know
He'd soon have my money,
He spoke not a word
But led me about,
I filled all my stockings
'Til my Visa gave out,
A laying his finger
Aside of his nose,
He offered a last deal
On pantyhose.
He then sprang off-screen,
To his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew
Like small guided missiles,
But I heard him explain
'Ere my screen went to nil,
"Happy Christmas to all,
I'll snail-mail my bill"
Email: aaronsteinmetz@yahoo.com
