‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through the barn
The horses were napping, all cozy and warm.



The aisles had been swept, the riders gone home
To family and loved ones, and eggnog with rum.


Curled in her hay nest, the cat softly purred,
Then woke with a start, for a sound could be heard.


Out in the dark night, louder it swelled,
A jingling and tinkling, the music of bells.


Then there were hoofbeats, up near the stars.
They circled the rooftop, and dropped to the yard.


They stopped just outside, the horses awoke,
As the door slowly opened with a creak of worn oak.


The moon glinted soft through a halo of snow,
And showed them a figure, a man all a-glow.


His snowsuit was red, his mukluks, laced tight.
His beard long and flowing, and gloriously white.


He stepped through the door, paced slowly ahead.
The horses then noticed the drag in his tread.


He sat on a hay bale, with a tear in his eye,
Propped his chin in his hand, and heaved a great sigh.



“St. Nick, I presume?” the nearest horse asked.
“We’re happy you’re here, but what of your task?


The children world over are expecting your gifts
You’ll run out of time, if you forsake your shift.”


St. Nick sighed again, and shook his white head.
“My gifts don’t have meaning, and wonder is dead.


The wealthy have so much, and always want more.
Every whim is fulfilled by a trip to the store.


They all seem so desperate. What can I share
That will banish unhappiness, make them all care


For what they all have, the riches piled high,
The blue world and green grass, the things they can’t buy?”


The horses huffed wisely, and one of them spoke,
“We teach such things daily to all of our folk:


The power of kindness, the joy of a treat,
How hard work rewards, and devotion is sweet.


How the thrill of a gallop gives meaning to life,
And the gift of just being will banish all strife.


Your job, good St. Nick, is more than just toys.
You’re the spirit of Christmas, the bringer of joy,


The promise of hope in a world all awry.
Like horses, you’re needed, to keep spirits high.”


St. Nick nodded slowly, from his pocket he drew
A handful of mints, and licorice too.


Exactly enough for each horse in its stall,
Plus a pat for the cat, and a colourful ball.

The door softly closed, the darkness grew thick,
While out in the moonlight a smiling St. Nick,


Took charge of the reins and clucked to his team.
They clopped and they jingled, and climbed a moonbeam,


Till up in the sky, they galloped away.
“Happy Christmas,” Nick cried, “and peace in your day.”