Gather around your smartphone, children. Uncle Jethro and Aunt Cat have a Christmas story for you.

A visit from St. Nicholas by Clement Clark Moore.

Twas the night before Christmas went all through 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.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.

And Mama in her kerchief and I in my cap had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.

When out on the roof there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutter,

and threw up the sash. The moon, on the breast of the new fallen snow, gave a luster of midday

to objects below. What to my wondering eyes did appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lovely and quick, I knew in the moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than Eagles, his coursers 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 the porch, to the top of the wall.

Now dash away, 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 housetop and 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.

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