Ice Fishing with St. Nick.

T’was the night before Christmas, when all thro’ the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
My kids were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of gift boxes danc’d in their heads,
And wife already asleep, and I in my jammy,
the Humminbird  plugged in to charge the battery.
When all of a sudden there arose such a buzz,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the fuzz.
Looked on my iPhone I saw that it’s 5,
Tip toe around so I don’t wake up the wife.
Street light on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below;
Then, with my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and call’d them by name:
“Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer and Vixen,
“On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Donder and Blitzen;
“To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
“Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound:
He was dress’d in high denier nylon, from his head to his foot,
With neoprene gloves and Columbia boots;
A bundle of fishing toys was flung on his back,
And he look’d like a peddler just opening his pack:
His eyes — how they twinkled! His dimples: how merry,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
I look at his hat and I was surprised to see,
A familiar logo with a big hook through the D.
He pull from his bag a in-line ice fishing reel,
And I laugh’d when I saw because this is unreal!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
I asked if he would like to ice fish with me,
He replied there’s no where else he rather be,
Then laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney we rose.
We sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave direction,
And away we flew, to a lake of secret destination.
We drop our jigs and the fish were biting,
The next couple of hours were furious and exciting.
How good times flew then my wife was calling,
Old Nick hopped in his sleigh and said he should be going.
But I heard him exclaims, as he drove out of sight —
Merry Christmas to all, and to all: TIGHT LINES.

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