With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore, Richard Stallman, and the English-speaking world in general — ed.
‘Twas the night before Christmas
While up in my bed,
I stared at the ceiling
With feelings of dread.
I’d really no reason for portents of doom
Lying there, sleepless, in gathering gloom.
We’d wrapped all the presents, and decked out the tree,
But still, there was something niggling at me.
