Tuesday, December 24, 2019

flight before Christmas


Twas the flight before Christmas and all through the sky,
Not a creature was stirring except Captain and I.
The throttles were set on the quadrant with care,
In hopes of beating St. Nicholas there.
The passengers nestled all snug in their seats,
The purr of the engines had lulled them to sleep.
The Cap' at the wheel and I on his right,
Had just leveled off for a long winters flight.
When out in the sky there arose such a clatter,
We sat up in our seats to see what was the matter.
We checked out each engine as quick as a flash,
And glanced at the dials all over the dash.
The moonlight reflecting from the cloud bank below,
Showed nothing amiss in the cold winters glow.
When what to out wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh with eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old pilot so lively and quick,
We knew in a minute it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than our ship his coursers they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
"Now Pratt and now Whitney, now Curtiss and Wright,
On Rolls Royce and Allison, on through the night.
To the top of the clouds - to the top of them all,
Now dashaway, dashaway, dashaway all!"
Then in a twinkle on our wing we did hear,
The prancing and pawing of each little dear.
More swift than the wind flashing over the clouds,
They passed right on by as they nodded and bowed.
St. Nick was in goggles and helmet and boot,
The snowflakes were clinging to his flying suit.
A bundle of toys was strapped to his back,
And he looked like a chutist in full jumping pack.
His goggles were frosty, his dimples were merry,
The wind burned his cheeks and his nose red like cherry.
The smoke from his pipe in his teeth he held tight,
Streamed out behind him far into the night.
He had tightened his seat belt over his belly,
But it shook under neath like a bowl full of jelly.
He was sure a good flyer that jolly old elf,
He flew better than Captain or even myself.
With a new burst of speed from his tiny sled,
He was right out in front and pulling ahead.
He was seeking a break in the dense overcast,
For he'd stockings to fill, an all-night-long task.
When off to the south he saw a big hole,
And banking to starboard he started to roll.
His stick he pushed forward, to his team gave a whistle,
And toward it he flew like an air-to-ground missile.
But we heard him cry as he dove out of sight,


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