TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
OR, WEEK OR SO AGO IN ASIA, SLAINTE MHATH STYLE…
by Rob Cas

Yet Another Variation by R.C. Jr. of the famous poem

Twas the night before Christmas, And all through the land,
Not a creature was stirring, Because of Winter's cold hand.
Ears pressed to the radio with no room to spare,
In hopes that Slainte Mhath would soon be heard there;

But the Slaintes were all nestled snug in their seats,
With visions of wild fans dancing to their beats.
And Lisa, Boyd, Brian, Ryan and John in their jams and caps,
They had just settled down for Trans Pacific flight naps.

When outside the plane there arose such a clatter,
The Slaintes sprang from their seats to see what was the matter,
Away to the windows they flew like a flash,
But could not open any shutters or spring any sash,

The moon on the crest of waves far below
Gave an illusion of midday on mid ocean nights' glow
When what to their wondering eyes should appear
But, you guessed it, that sleigh and those eight tiny deer,

And an odd, round pilot, yet nimble and quick,
They knew in that moment it wasn't St. Nick.
More rapid than lightning his antlered steeds came;
He sang and hooted calling them different names;

Praise Krishna, and Vishnu, and Shiva and Vixen,
Blessed Sita, and Lakshmi, and Brahma and Blitzen,
To the International Date Line that invisible wall,
Now float away, fly away, ascend away all.

As ocean waves before a wild cyclone cry,
When they meet the wind and are splashed to the sky;
So too towards Asia and the Dateline they flew
With a sleigh full of sushi and a Golden Buddha too.

Then to their amazement the Slaintes heard on the planes' roof,
The tapping and slapping of each flying hoof,
The musicians stole away from glassed orbs, fearfully turning
around
Amazingly, the Golden Buddha appeared with no sound

He was dressed oh so scantily from head to foot,
The clothes he did wear were of sackcloth and soot,
A cooler of seafood was strapped to his back.
He looked like a longshoreman sporting a pack

His eyes indeed twinkled and dimples also merry,
Like Santa his face appeared rosy and cheery,
His grinning lips curled up like a bow,
And his beard, too, was white like wind driven snow.

But there was no pipe held between his white teeth,
Instead a bright halo `bout his head like a wreath,
With a round, happy face and a round happy belly,
His, too, shook when he laughed, as if full of sugared jelly.

So happy and plump like a jolly old elf,
The Slaintes laughed when they saw him, in spite of
themselves;
Like Santa he winked and twisted his head,
And let all of them know they had no need to dread,

He spoke words of wisdom as he went about his work,
Filling dinner plates and glasses, then turning with a jerk,
He clapped his hands and in the air he rose,
And disappeared if by magic they all must have supposed.

He flipped onto his sleigh, his divine steeds he stirred,
They clamored and rose as they scrambled and whirred,
Somehow they could hear him as he flew out of sight,
"Now you know who helps Santa in Asia tonight!"