T.R. Hendricks

‘Twas the Write before Christmas, when all through the house
Two devices were stirring, my keyboard and mouse
My outlines spread out, before me with care
In hopes that ideas, soon would be there

The children were nestled
all snug in their beds,
So I wrote a huge battle scene
My hero lopping off heads

Sword flying, men crying, their blood being splattered
The peace of the kingdom I wrote being shattered
Shields splintered, limbs severed
Armor caved in with a crash
Perhaps later my hero, would earn the traitor’s lash

Head down, fingers flying, I write with such fury
Looking up, glasses off, the screen fuzzy and blurry
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But eight fresh new pages, so crisp and so clear

So tired, so weary, but the ideas keep on coming
Should stop, I can’t stop, a bestseller is forming
A twitch of the eye, a glance to my right
Is that really the time, it’s the middle of the night

So entrenched in my world, I missed on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof
As I typed my next sentence, completely missing the sound
Down the chimney St. Nicholas, came with a bound

Probably alarmed at seeing me there
St. Nick scratched his head when I didn’t stop, didn’t stare
Perhaps not a first, for him it must seem
That a writer wouldn’t stop, from their most recent scene

With a shrug towards my chair, he went straight to work
Figuring me, for some Ebenezer jerk
Presents piled high, his task finished for the night
Curiosity took hold, this writer in his sight

Creeping forward so softly
He looked over my shoulder
The clock ticked away
The night growing older

The keystrokes the sound, a soft little patter
I wrote and I wrote, the time didn’t matter
St. Nick he did hang, on every written word
So entranced he became, he was now in my world

On the wall the clock chimed, three bells in a rhyme
My goodness he said, will you look at the time
I must be off, I’ve places to be
Yet there’s one thing I ask, a favor to me

I inclined my head, not looking from the screen
Of what could St. Nick, need from one such as me
Of course my dear Santa, tell me what you need
I’ll hasten to deliver, with all possible speed

St. Nick he did pause, knowing this task
How enormous the weight, of what he would ask
How does it end? His voice soft and diminished
I’m sorry St. Nick, you’ll have to read it when it’s finished

His eyes how they twinkled!
His smile so bright!
It seemed I wasn’t the first writer
To say this tonight

The jolly man did then laugh, I’m distracting I see
Please don’t you stop, not on account of me
I like where you’re going, don’t want you to get sloppy
When I’m done St. Nick, I’ll send you a copy

With a sullen deep sigh and a twist of his head
We both knew there was little more to be said
Don’t worry St. Nick, I won’t tell of this sighting
He winked and he said, just get back to writing

Up the chimney he rose and sprang to his sleigh
A jingle of bells as he floated away
But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
Merry Christmas To You, And To You A Good Write!