In the manner and rhythm of Clement C. Moore…
‘Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the Ridge
Not a Fraser was sleeping,
Not even a smidge.
With fire in the hearth and whiskey in their cups,
And the hope that Laoghaire wouldn’t suddenly show up.
The children danced around in a haphazard flounce,
Giddy and drunk (homemade cherry bounce).
And Claire in no kerchief and Jamie in plaid wrap,
Were hoping to sneak off for a quick winter’s “nap.”
When out in the woods there arose such a clatter,
They raced to the door to see what was the matter.
Away from the Big House they flew in a jiffy,
Round past the garden and then past the privy.
The moon on the black of the tall, fragrant pines,
Gave the shimmer of silver unearthed from a mine.
When alas their questioning eyes found the source,
Appeared a beautiful carriage being drawn by a horse.
With a magnificent coat and a jawline so strong,
They knew in a moment it must be Lord John.
More handsome than Ares his countenance arrived,
And he shouted out names pulling into the drive:
“Now Roger, now Jemmy,
Now Brianna and Murtagh!
Oh, Fergus! Oh, Marsali! Oh, Ian and Jocasta!
Why use the chimney, I’d get all sooty?
Come to me, everyone, and bask in my beauty!”
As snowflakes fall without making a sound,
Stood everyone surprised and feeling astound.
So into the Big House he gracefully strode,
Carrying a sack with a mysterious load.
And then in a twinkling he gave a small smile
And said, “Rich friends at Christmas are surely worthwhile?”
As he drew round the room and gave a sly wink,
“Presents for all- but first a small drink?”
He was dressed in fine clothes, from his head to his feet,
Sartorially splendid and impeccably neat;
A bundle of toys he laid down on the floor
And he looked like Adonis— a sight for eyes sore.
His eyes- how they glimmered! His hair locks, so shiny!
His cheeks were like apples, his muscles sculpted so finely.
His beautiful mouth was pulled up to one side,
And he walked round the room in a magnificent stride;
He spoke kindest of words and went right to work,
Delivering presents (even to Tryon, that jerk).
And placing a hand gently over his heart,
Pledged his love for the family and then strode back to his cart,
He sprang to his seat, to his horse gave a click,
And he headed downhill, traveling lickity split.
But I heard him exclaim, afore Season Five:
“My love to you all! Please stay alive!”