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Happy Holidays from Inspiration Alley. This is a special poem just for you. If you have the classic Christmas point, please read along. So let's get together for a visit from ST Nicholas, also known as the Night Before Christmas by Clement Clarke Moore. Towards the night before Christmas went all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care and hopes that Saint Nicolas soon would be there. The Children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads and Ma in her kerchief and I in my cap had just settled our brains for a long winter nap went out on the lawn. There arose such a clatter. I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter away to the window. I flew like a flash, tore open the shutter and threw up the sash. The room on the breast of new fallen snow gave the lustre of mid day to objects below. When with to my wondering, I sit up here, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer with a love low driver so lively and quick. I knew for a moment it must be ST Nick. More rapid than eagles. His coursers They came and he whistled and shouted and called them by me. Now Dasher on dancer, Now Prancer and vixen on Comet on Cupid on Donner and Blitzen to the top of the ports to the top of the wall. Now dance away. That's away. That's away all as dry lease that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky. So up to the roof top the coursers. They flew with the sleigh full of toys and ST Nicholas two. And then, in a twinkling I heard on the roof, the prancing and point of each little hoof. As I drew in my head and was turning around down the chimney, ST Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes in such a bundle of toys he had flung on his back and he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack. His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples, how merry his cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry, his stroller little mouth was drawn up like a bowl. And the beard on his chin was this white ever snow the stump of his pipe. He held tight in his teeth and the smoke encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a round belly that shook when he laughed like a bowl from the Jeb. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf. And I laughed 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 had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work and filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk and laying his finger aside of his nose and given a nod of the chimney, he rose. He sprang to the slave to the team, gave a whistle and away they all flew like the dawn of a thistle that I heard him explain. There he drove out of sight. Happy Christmas! 12 and to all a good night. Oh, merry Christmas. Thank you.