Boater’s Edition

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the marina,
Not a ripple was stirring, not even a cleaner.
The dock lines were snug, the fenders hung tight,
In hopes that St. Nicholas would anchor tonight.

The sailors were nestled all warm in their berths,
Dreaming of trade winds and tropical surf.
With charts on the table and cocoa in mugs,
They’d plotted their courses with holiday hugs.

When out on the water there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the cabin to see what’s the matter!
Away to the cockpit I flew like a flash,
Flipped on the nav lights and checked for a splash.

The moon on the crest of the gentle night tide
Gave a shimmer like silver on the starboard side.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a jolly old skipper with eight tiny reindeer!

With a sleigh rigged like a dinghy, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than dolphins his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

“Now Starboard! Now Portside! Now Rudder and Vixen!
On Cleat! On Compass! On Anchor and Blitzen!
To the top of the mast! To the end of the dock!
Now sail away! Sail away! Sail like a hawk!”

As spinnakers fly when the trade winds blow high,
They lifted that sleigh to the moonlit sky.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the deck
The clink of his boots and the creak of the cleat check.

He was dressed all in foulies from head to his toe,
With a beard salt-sprayed like fresh winter snow.
A bundle of gear he had slung on his back,
Like a seasoned old sailor with charts in his pack.

He spoke not a word but went straight to his task,
Filling each locker and topping each flask.
Then laying a finger aside of his nose,
He gave me a wink and up the halyard he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, gave a blast on the horn,
And away they all sailed on the crest of the morn.
But I heard him exclaim as he tacked out of sight:
“Fair winds to you all, and to all a good night!”