‘Twas the night before Christmas, and down in the deep,
Not a creature was stirring, nor making a peep.
The seashells were hung by the coral with care,
In hopes that Old Sandy Klaws soon would be there.
The merkids were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of shipwrecks sailed through their heads.
And Neptune with his trident, and I with my tail,
Had just settled down to a seaweed-filled tale.
When atop the sea, there arose such a clatter,
I surfaced to see just what was the matter.
Up, up to the shore, I swam like a flash,
Slicing through waves with nary a splash.
Moonlight reflecting on the smooth as glass sea,
Seemed as bright as the midday sun – well, to me.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a pontoon sleigh, pulled by eight dolphins, dear.
Though the crustacean driver never would pause,
I knew in a moment, it was Sandy Klaws.
More rapid than makos his porpoises came,
and he clicked and whistled and called out their names.
“Now Splashy, now Coral, now Finny and Bubbles,
On Glisten, on Ripple, on Shimmer and Troubles!
To the top of the waves, to the top of the wall,
Now swim ahead, swim ahead, swim ahead all!”
As phosphoresence that in the ship’s wake glows,
to the crest of the wave, the dolphins, they rose.
Then down to the sea caves those silver forms dove,
with the boat full of toys and of course Mr Klows – er – Klaws
And then with a splish-splash I heard in my cove,
the frolicking sound of the dolphins he drove.
As I floated toward them without making a sound,
down the waterspout Sandy Klaws came with a bound.
He was dressed all in kelp from his head to his shell,
with barnacle decorations shining as well.
A bundle of toys he held in his pincher,
and he looked like an orca contemplating dinner.
His eyestalks rotated, his feet – how they skittered!
His mouth parts and beard were all dusted with glitter.
His first legs were holding on tight to a bow,
and his whole carapace did certainly glow.
He couldn’t have smiled (crabs don’t have teeth),
but his bubbles encircled him just like a wreath.
He had a broad shell, and a hard belly plate,
and his color was pink from the shrimp he ate.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old crab
And I laughed as I offered a plated sand dab.
But he ducked his eyes and waved me away,
and I realized he was keeping his pinchers at bay.
He spoke not word, but emptied his bag,
leaving something for every mermaid and sea hag.
Then snapping his claw like a bone castanet,
he rode the up waterspout, fast as a jet.
He scuttled to his sleigh, to his team clicked and whistled,
and away they all swam like a Landwalker’s missile.
Still, I heard him exclaim as his bubble trail died…
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Good Tide!
