The Night Before Macmas
‘Twas the night before Macmas, when all through the house
Not a harddrive was whirring, not even a Mighty Mouse.
The iPods were placed on their docks with care,
In the hopes that St. Steve would soon be there.
The Apple fans were impatiently waiting all snug in their beds,
While visions of tablet-Macs danced in their little heads.
When up on the roof arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was a matter.
Away from Microsoft Windows I failed like Adobe Flash,
Tore open the Aperture and threw up the sash.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Steve Jobs and eight tiny iDeer.
“Now Phil! now, Scott! now, Johnny and Tim!
On, Bertrand! On, Peter! On Mark and Ron!
Top the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now flick away, Flick away! Flick away all!”
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing, the pawing of each little iHoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Steve came with a bound.
He was dressed all in Snow Leopard fur, from his head to his Nike Plus foot,
And his turtleneck and blue jeans were all tarnished with soot.
A bundle of Apple goodies he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a salesperson, just opening his Apple bag.
He sprang to his iSleigh, to his executive team gave a whistle,
And away they all zoomed like the Mac Pro’s processor.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of iSight,
“Happy Macmas to all, and to all an Apple-night!”
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