'Twas the night before Christmas, when throughout Copacabana,
Not a creature was stirring, not even an Aranha,
The thumpers were hung like the stockings of yore,
In hopes the Accord would fill them with ore.
The Battleframes were nestled all snug in their garages,
While visions in the Melding danced like mirages,
And Antilles in his Biotech, and I in my Dread,
Reloading after rending Chosen quite dead.Not a creature was stirring, not even an Aranha,
The thumpers were hung like the stockings of yore,
In hopes the Accord would fill them with ore.
The Battleframes were nestled all snug in their garages,
While visions in the Melding danced like mirages,
And Antilles in his Biotech, and I in my Dread,
When out on the beach there arose such a clatter,
I blasted from the ground to see what was the matter,
Away to the sky I hovered in flight,
Whipped out my rifle and looked down the sight.
The moon on the water of the Broken Shore
Shed light on something heard in stories before,
When, what to my wondering eyes should I see,
But eight thundering Brontodons, pulling an LGV.
With a grizzled old driver, known ever so well,
I knew in a moment it must be Papai Noel,
More rapid than Storm Kestrels his behemoths they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of each watchtower! To the top of Stonewall!
To Thump Dump! To Trans-hub! To the frontiers of Firefall!"
As dry leaves that before the melding tornadoes whirl,
When they meet with incursions, right through them they hurl
So up to the SiN Tower the massive beasts did hike
With the cycle full of toys, and St. Nick alike.
And then, in a bellow, I heard by the boardwalk,
The crashing thunder of each massive beast's hock,
As I slung back my rifle, hefting my main gun around,
Up from depths, the Aranhas spewed from the ground.
In the nearest bug, St. Nick stuffed his boot,
And blood and slime did tarnish his suit,
A bundle of toys he had flung over his shoulder,
In the other hand, a glowing gun barrel did smolder.
His eyes-how they glowed, with a deep-set fire,
His cheeks were rose red, betraying his ire,
His mouth pulled back in a maniacal grin,
And singed white hair encasing his chin.
He was stout and sturdy, a man of great girth,
His inertia in battle ran counter his mirth,
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Let me know the attackers would start to be dead.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
Pumping each bug with lead, and going berserk,
And as gun smoke encircled his head in a wreath,
Fell the unearthly terrors that came from beneath.
He sprang to his cycle, leaving gifts piled well,
And away they charged like a bat out of hell,
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good fight!"
From our family to yours, 8-Bit Tavern wishes you all a Happy Holidays.
See you in New Eden,
Cuculainn
More rapid than Storm Kestrels his behemoths they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of each watchtower! To the top of Stonewall!
To Thump Dump! To Trans-hub! To the frontiers of Firefall!"
As dry leaves that before the melding tornadoes whirl,
When they meet with incursions, right through them they hurl
So up to the SiN Tower the massive beasts did hike
With the cycle full of toys, and St. Nick alike.
And then, in a bellow, I heard by the boardwalk,
The crashing thunder of each massive beast's hock,
As I slung back my rifle, hefting my main gun around,
Up from depths, the Aranhas spewed from the ground.
In the nearest bug, St. Nick stuffed his boot,
And blood and slime did tarnish his suit,
A bundle of toys he had flung over his shoulder,
In the other hand, a glowing gun barrel did smolder.
His eyes-how they glowed, with a deep-set fire,
His cheeks were rose red, betraying his ire,
His mouth pulled back in a maniacal grin,
And singed white hair encasing his chin.
He was stout and sturdy, a man of great girth,
His inertia in battle ran counter his mirth,
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Let me know the attackers would start to be dead.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
Pumping each bug with lead, and going berserk,
And as gun smoke encircled his head in a wreath,
Fell the unearthly terrors that came from beneath.
He sprang to his cycle, leaving gifts piled well,
And away they charged like a bat out of hell,
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good fight!"
From our family to yours, 8-Bit Tavern wishes you all a Happy Holidays.
See you in New Eden,
Cuculainn
Yay. Awesome poem. Happy holidays in advance Cuculainn :)
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