Twas the Night Before Christmas (With apologies*)

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
a breeze was rustling, and a tiny grey mouse.
He skittered through cupboards and under the sink,
avoiding things that’d give him away with a clink.

The children were tossing, hot and sweaty in bed,
they had no idea what scurried overhead.
Mum in her tank top and shorts pulled tight,
she had hunted that mouse, all day and all night.

She had chased him through rooms and over the bath
sure that he was having a bloody good laugh.
He seemed to twinkle and as she grew nie,
he dashed away faster, leaving her far behind.

Her schwacker in hand, she felt quite defeated,
surveying his mess and all the things he had eaten.
Until she remembered the tiny grey trap,
set aside in a drawer and forgotten, like that.

She dusted it off and baited it well,
hiding it where she knew that mouse did dwell.
She turned off the lights and made ready for bed,
while visions of dead mice danced in her head.

Then! Under the sink she heard a great clatter,
Mother knew there was something the matter.
She raced to the sink and there in her trap,
lay the little grey mouse, squished with a splat.

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, especially not any mouse.
Mother had washed her hands with great glee,
Now knowing her Christmas would be the best it could be.

***

*With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore who wrote the original. You can find a copy of the original here, as well as some facts about the poet.