'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the bay not a creature was stirring not even a ray. The flip flops were hung by the port hatch with care in the hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. Sonrisa's crew were nestled snug in their beds, while visions of dragon fruits dance in their heads.
Leslie with her eye patch, and I with my cap, had just settled down for a mid-summer's nap. When out on the dock there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bunk to see what was the matter. Away to the portholes I flew like a flash, popped open the battens, threw up the sash.
The moon, the fireflies, and phosphorescent glow, gave the luster of midday above and below. When what should the Northwest trades blow in? A sailing canoe flanked by eight jumping dolphins. With a jolly-mon sailor so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
More rapid than sea gulls his coursers they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name. "Now, Squeaker! Now, Jumper! Now, Dancer! Now, Flipper! On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Thunder! On, Flipsum! To the top of the mast! To the front of the bow! Now, dash away! Dash away! Dash away, now!
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the cabin-top the coursers they flew, With the canoe full of toys and St. Nicholas too. And then in a twinkling, Aye, I, the Skipper, hear all the flapping of sixteen little flippers!
As I drew in my head, and was turning around, down the port hatch St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dress'd in board shorts, flip flops and flowers, had he been at the beach bar for that many hours? A bundle of coconuts was flung on his back, a bottle of rum tucked in his sack. His sunglasses they twinkled, his hula shirt so merry, he made me a cocktail, then added a cherry; he wrapped one more present and tied up a bow, I told him a joke and he laughs "Ho! Ho! Ho!"
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had sand in his beard and a sunburned belly, that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, and I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and flip of his head, he started tying toys with a shimmering thread. He said not a word, but went straight to his task, tucking into my flip flop a shiny new flask.
Then grabbing a halyard up the mast he rose, brushing cinnamon and cookie dust off of his nose. He swung to his canoe, gave his conch shell a whistle, then away they all flew, like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight:
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!