‘Twas the night before Pfist-mas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, health

and all through the Pfister

a few creatures were stirring,

some misses, some misters.

 

 

The stockings were hung

without a single demand

and stuffed with the sounds

from the piano man’s hands.

 

 

A few guests were asleep

in pillow-topped beds

with visions of lions

roaming in their heads.

 

 

The barkeep in his black suit

poured sparkling nightcaps

ensuring those still awake

would soon take long naps.

 

Then out on the street

horns started blaring

some sprang from their stools

some stayed seated, here not caring.

 

And from the cafe windows

they were stunned by what they saw:

Saint Nicholas himself

get out of a yellow taxi car.

 

 

His eyes, doctor how they twinkled

not a trace of the crabbies

and before going in

he triple-tipped the cabby.

 

He walked behind the bar

and went straight to work,

refilled everyone’s glasses

with a jolly wink and a smirk.

 

 

The guests toasted his kindness

as he left the festive lobby

“Merry Christmas to all

and go back to your room if you start to feel wobbly.”