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 when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care and hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

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

And Mama and her Kirchiff 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 lustre of midday to objects below.

What do 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 corsairs they came and he whistled and shouted and called them by name.

Now Dasha, now dancer, now prancer and vixen, on comet, on cupid, on dawner and blitzen.

To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, now Dashaway, Dashaway, Dashaway 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 and corsairs they flew, with the sleigh full of toys and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling I heard on the roof, the prancing implying 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 dressed all in fur from his head to his foot and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

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