Twas the night before tomorrow, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, except to move the mouse.
The virtual stockings were hung on the screen with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would email here.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While reflections from the television danced on their heads.
And mamma with her iPhone, and I with my top lap,
Had just just done a search to find a new app.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to the security monitor to see what was the matter.
Away to the remote I flew like a flash,
Adjusted the cameras that cost lots of cash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a delivery van that looked hard to steer.
With a cranky old driver, not so lively or quick,
I knew in a moment this wasn’t St Nick.
Less rapid than snails my packages came,
The promise of quick delivery was rather lame!