Adaptations from Classic Poetry 2

- Varda

Based on The Night Before Christmas by Clement Clarke Moore

(A ribald rewrite for the ladies.
Mangled for your reading pleasure
by Erech the undead)

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the hole
Not a creature was stirring, not even a troll;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Sweet Legolas soon would be there;

The young ones were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

A lonely Elf mother, husband killed at Helm's deep
Had just settled down for a lonely night's sleep,

When out on the verge there arose such a clatter,
She sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window she flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to her wondering eyes came her way,
But eight tiny dwarves and a miniature sleigh,

With a tall Elven driver, so lively and fast,
She knew in a moment it must be Legolas.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Gimli, now Bombur, now Dwalin and Balin!

On Fili, on Kili, on Nori and Thorin!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and Sweet Legolas too.

And then, in a twinkling, she heard up the chute
The prancing and dancing of each little boot.

As she drew in her hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Sweet Legolas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a gaffer just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And his clear perfect skin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke sweet and pungent, hung 'round like a wreath;

He had a great face and a little round booty,
That shook, when he laughed, so enticingly fruity.

He was chiseled and perfect, a right jolly young Elf,
And I wept when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I could offer my bed;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all my longings; then stood with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his hose,
He gave but a nod, up my chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

- Erech the Undead

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The Troll's Socks Song

Troll sat alone on the dryers top,
And tried to pair his one old sock;
For many a year he had kept it near,
For socks were hard to keep dry.
Warm dry! Stay dry!
On a dryer in the hills he dwelt alone,
And socks were hard to keep dry.

Up came Tom with his matching socks on.
Said he to Troll: "Pray, what is yon?
For it looks like the sock o' my nuncle Tim,
As should be a-coverin' his foot now.
His now! Where now!
This many a year has his sock been gone,
And I thought it was coverin' his foot still."

"My lad," said Troll, 'this sock I found.
But what be socks that lie on the ground?
Thy nuncle was gone as gone could be,
Afore I found his lost sock.
Poor sock! Lone sock!
He can spare a sock for a poor old troll,
For he didn’t miss his lost sock."

Said Tom: "I don't see why the likes o' thee
Without axin' leave should go makin' free
With the sock off the foot o' my father's kin;
So hand the old sock over!
Rover! Trover!
Though gone he be, it belongs to he;
So hand the old sock over!"

"For a couple o' pins," says Troll, and grins,
"I'll strip thy feet, and snatch thy socks.
A pair o' matched socks would be so sweet!
I'll get my socks from thee now.
Hee now! See now!
I'm tired o' havin’ just one old sock;
I've a mind to take your socks now."

But just as he thought those socks were caught,
He found his hands had hold of naught.
Before he could mind, Tom took off his socks
And gave him a smell to larn him.
Warn him! Darn him!
A smell o' dirty socks up his nose, Tom thought,
Would be the way to larn him.

But number than stone is the schnoz and snout
Of a troll that sits on the dryers top.
As well as try to out stink a skunk,
For the nose of a troll don't smell it.
Propel it! Dispel it!
Old Troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan,
And he knew his nose could smell it.

Tom's nose is dead, since home he came,
And his sockless feet are forever lame;
But Troll don't care, and he's still there
With the socks he snatched from their owner.
Donor! Stoner!
Troll's old seat is still the same,
And the socks he snatched from their owner!

- Ashlyn