‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the brewshed,
Not a bottle was stirring, not even a Moosehead.
The mugs were laid out on the bar with great care,
Hoping an imbiber soon would be there.
The kegs, they lay carbing, all snug in the keezer,
While visions of homebrew danced in my head like a teaser.
SWMBO was there, contemplating my expression,
Wondering if I’d gone nuts, or just a bout of depression.
When out in the shed, there arose such a bash,
I dropped my hot cocoa into my hot mash.
Panicked I was, at the noise from the back,
I ran to the door to see what had gone whack.
The South Texas moon gave an eerie dim light
To the hops I had planted but now suffered from blight.
When what with my sleepy eyes should I see,
But a drunken old elf and eight mini-me’s!
He looked like the winos in front of WalMart and Target,
I knew in a moment he must be Saint Nick.
He yelled to his cohorts like it was a great game,
And then he called each one out by their name:
“Now Helles! Now Lambic, Old Bruin and Dubbel!
On Pilsner! On Porter, Rauchbier and Tripel!
Open the brewshed and turn on the lights,
We’re gonna have us a party tonight!
I grabbed my old shotgun (as all Texans are armed)
And ran out to meet them before my brauhaus was harmed.
I burst in the door as they were jingling their bells,
(It was then I remembered I’d forgotten the shells.)
Santa turned startled, wondering what to do,
As I questioned his reason for downing my brew.
He said, “Tis the season for friends to partake,
So sit ye self down, and a legend we’ll make!
This was so strange, I was doubting my sanity,
But I could not refuse him despite all my vanity.
We sat there for hours consuming my brew,
Then he told me to leave as he had some things to do.
I stumbled to bed and passed out like a light,
And fitfully slept through what was left of the night.
I awoke the next morning, my head pounding like mad,
As I vaguely remembered the adventure I had.
I stumbled out back (I could have been faster,)
Opened the brewshed ready for disaster.
Though I was still crocked, I just couldn’t believe
The place was much neater than I’d left it last eve.
But something was different, I could barely perceive,
And I promise this happened, I would not deceive.
On the corner of the table sat a note writ in gold,
I started to read it there in the cold.
“I thank you for your friendship last night.
This is the season for giving, but it gives me a fright,
The world is changing, and the season is leaving.
Humanity is doing away with believing,
In me, not a human, but only a ghost,
Of giving, and friendship, and a gentlemanly host.
You have proved that there still does remain,
Hope for your kind to remember my name.
Merry Christmas to all, Happy Holidays if you prefer,
For this is a time for all to confer
To remember all others, This is the reason,
For this celebrated, happy holiday season.
