Twas the 25 Day of Christmas Hunt
Twas the night before The 25 Days of Christmas Hunt, when all through the Sims
Not a noob was stirring, not even a vet.
The prims were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Linden soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their groups,
While visions of lindens danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘scuptie, and I in my mesh,
Had just settled our brains for a long inventory's nap.
When out on the homestead there arose such a lag,
I sprang to my laptop to see what was the matter.
Away from phoenixs I flew with a crash,
Tore open the bower and log on with a sash.
The moon on the grid of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight Lindens Near.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Linden.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now ! now Oskar, Kyle ! now, Izzie and Torrie!
On, Eric! On, Jeremy! , on Govenor and Tiggs!
To the top of the grid ! to check the very last server !
Now telport away! telport away! telport away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with a report, mount to there Clipbored.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Huds, and St Linden too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The gesture and ao of each of there boots.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Linden 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 marketplace things 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 droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
I thought to myself that creator was good.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old Linden,
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 type not a word, but went straight to his work,
And Checked all the level, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the 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 tp out of sight,
"Happy 25 Days of Christmas ", and to all a good-Hunt!"
-Edited For SL By, Miss Lisa (Lisan2007 Rhode), Hunt Organizer
