Twas the night before Christmas, and, oh, I was weary.
My stitching unfinished, my eyes getting bleary.
The stockings weren’t finished, the chimney was bare.
And I knew that morning soon would be there.
My children and husband were tucked in their beds,
But visions of backstitches ran through my head.
I’d stitched ornaments and presents and gifts by the ton,
And now, I was finally, almost, almost done.
As I poised my needle for one more backstitch,
I heard something outside that made my hand twitch.
I jumped up from my stitching, and flew to the door,
Pressed my eye to the peephole, tiptoe off the floor.
My stitching forgotten, I peered into the night.
When suddenly, I got a terrible fright.
On my porch appeared Santa, holding his sack.
He knocked softly, and I took a giant step back.
I unlocked the deadbolt, and let Santa in,
He entered and gave a mischievous grin.
“Hope you don’t mind if I come in the door?”
“Coming down the chimney can be quite a chore.”
He said “You’re up late. Still working I see.”
“Do you know how tired you’re going to be?”
“I know, Santa,” I said, with a sigh,
“But I’m still backstitching the stars in the sky,”
“And the fields on that stocking look blobby you know,
I need to backstitch the drifts in the snow.
I’ve been stitching and stitching and stitching, no rest.
I just tried to finish stitching too much, I guess.”
“I know what you mean,” he said with a smile.
“This is my busiest time of the year, by a mile.”
He stooped down by the tree, and he opened his sack,
And began to pull presents out of his pack.
“I’ve got some things here I think you might like,
An oak stitching frame, and a brand new Ott-Light.
A bundle of floss, and a great big mat cutter,”
I smiled and felt my heart go a-flutter.
He put down gifts for us all, then he waved his right hand.
“Go to bed,” he said, glancing at my floor stand.
He gave me a wink, and stepped out the door.
I just stood there a moment, glued to the floor.
After he’d left, I turned back to my chair,
Picked up the stockings, and started to stare.
The backstitching was done! The stars lit the sky!
And on my son’s stocking angels sung on high.
I ran to thank Santa for this final gift,
And watched as his sleigh started to lift.
I heard him exclaim as he pulled out of sight
“Merry stitching to all, and to all a good night!–