‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung on the stairway with care (yes finally),
In hopes that Santa Claus soon would be there.
RoadDog was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of Timbits danced in his head.
And mamma in her doo-rag, and dad a Vulcan cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window we flew like a flash,
Tore open the curtains to check out the bash.
The moon how it glistened on the new-fallen snow
As we gazed down in awe at the objects below.
For what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But a man in black leather, and eight large reindeer.
All dressed in bike shirts and each straddling their ride
It was enough to make the neighbours panic and hide.
More rapid than crotch rockets in the driveway they came,
Their leader he whistled and called them by name.
“Now, Kawasaki! Now, Honda! Now, Yamaha and Victory!
On, BMW! On Triumph! On, Suzuki and Harley!
We’re here to see RoadDog, to give him Christmas treats,
That little biker dude is a friend to all he meets.”
As each one they stopped and peered at our home
A tear came to my eye and I knew there it shone.
For bikers love animals, and none more than our Jake,
Their pet food and toy runs, such a difference they make.
They may dress all in leather and jeans looking tough
But I knew that their hearts are more than big enough.
As I drew in my head, my eye glimpsed down below,
Santa’s bike was fully loaded, sitting there in the snow.
That bike was all covered with full leather bags
Holding brightly wrapped presents with ribbons and tags.
And a T-bag of goodies he had flung on his back,
He looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His shades how they twinkled, his eyes they were merry,
The cold made his cheeks rosey, his nose like a cherry.
The big guy was smiling, his teeth a bright row,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
He wore a red helmet, for safety of course,
In a hit with a car even Santa would get the worst.
Like many a biker, he had a bit of a belly,
And yes, it shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was tattooed and friendly, a right jolly old rider,
He was happy on his bike, his smile couldn’t be wider.
A wink of his eye under that helmet so red,
As he leaned down to pat our RoadDog on the head.
He then spoke a few words and went on with his deed,
He filled all the stockings and put chrome under the tree.
Then nodding to the reindeer, he went back to his ride,
He had more good work to do and clearly took pride.
He sprang to his seat and the pipes how the rumbled,
And away they all rode making noise like the thunder;
But I heard him call out, as he rode out of sight,
“Happy biking to all, and to all a good night.”
~ With thanks and apologies to Major Henry Livingston Jr. (1748-1828)