As a result of too much eggnog, I give you:
***A Rather Terrible Christmas Poem***
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, every creature was stirring— especially this mouse.
The little brown zipped and zagged and crawled. He burrowed and tunneled and moved through the walls. His friends were there too, oh yes, everyone. The mice in the walls were all having fun.
The man in the chair, he sat and he listened. He heard the squeaks in the walls whilst the candlesticks glistened. The mice were chattering, planning, and plotting. Sitting in their wall-homes, jesting and mocking. They mocked the man who sat in the chair, but he did not mock back, oh he did not dare. He heard them plan and he heard them plot, he heard them chatter by the tick of the clock.
One tick, two tick, red tick, blue tick.
The clock sat in the corner and smirked. Despite all the years passed since the damn thing worked.
One tick, two tick, red tick, blue tick—
If it wasn’t the clock, then what was he hearing? Mocking and jesting and plotting and planning.
Here on the eve, of all of this joy. The man sat waiting for his Christmas toy.
An interesting toy, he would never see coming. A thing that kept most other men running. But tonight he welcomed this sad little toy. Not a gift, but a treat to enjoy!
Just before it all would fade to black, the man in the chair would smile and lean back.
He'd look at the ceiling, and think of color-clocks, and mice in the walls, and long Christmas talks.
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, every creature was stirring— save for one mouse.