This one? I don't know the author.
W
T'was the night before Christmas when all through the garage, Not a
creature was stirring, not even a Dodge.
The tires were hung by the
chimney with care, In hopes that Saint Nicholas would fill them with
air.
The children were nestled all snug in their stalls, While visions
of tire smoke were shadowing the walls.
Ma in her white walls, and I in
my blacks, Had just settled down for a matter of fact.
When out on the
lawn there rose such a fuss, I sped from my stall like a jet propelled
bus.
Away to the door I flew like a flash, Forgot the black ice and
slipped on my ash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow Gave
the luster of fresh wax to objects below.
If what to my wondering eyes
should appear, But a custom built Chrysler with toys in the rear.
The
little old driver sped on so quick, I knew in a moment it must be Saint
Nick.
Then in a moment I heard on the rooftop, The skidding of the
tires as he came to a stop .
As I backed away and turned around, Down
the chimney Saint Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur
from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and
soot.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, Filled the
tires, checked the oil, and turned with a jerk.
He sprang to his car, to
the motor he gave the gas, It must be a Hemi it moved so fast.
But I
heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight, Happy Christmas to all, and to
all a good- night!
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