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Twelve Waves of Christmas

Twas the day before Christmas, when all through the chat.
Not a market was stirring, not even a mouse which sat on a cat.
The stockings were hung by the roster with care,
In hopes that Saint Firstwave soon would be there.

The coders were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of thinkScript studies danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the chart there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what MOBO alert was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open my studies and threw in a slash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen screenshow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to candles below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a new study, and many others, oh dear.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Firstwave.
More rapid than eagles his studies they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

Now Grail!  Now FibGrid!  Now DynaRange and CCI!
On Fab Five!  On TEMA!  On ADX and DPO!
To the top of the chart!
To the top of the wall!
Now MOBO away! MOBO away! MOBO away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up on my monitor the studies they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and Saint Firstwave too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the chart
The prancing and pawing of each little move at its’ start.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Saint Firstwave came with a bound.

He was dressed like a pirate, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
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 droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
The beard on his chin, shouted Snap Back Below.
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 once a little round belly,
That still shakes when he laughs, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was once 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 explained all the studies, 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 drove out of sight,
“Merry MOBO to all, and to all a good-night!”

Written by Bob Kapitan (BKap on TOS)
Adapted from the traditional Christmas poem by Clement Clark Moore.
Copyright Bob Kapitan, 2009/2010

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