A seasonal ballad

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‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the House;

The only thing stirring was an occasional mouse;

(Despite the endeavours of cats and of men;

The mice just kept breeding, then breeding again.)

In the warmth of his chambers in the shade of Big Ben;

The Speaker was feeding his pets in his den;

A parrot called Boris, his Rottweiler, Pat;

And Maggie, and Betty, and Dennis the cat;

And when he’d retired to his bed for the night;

A fairy came calling, and pleased at the sight;

Of animals various feeding together;

Thought this lot will easily suffer the weather;

And other privations of a cold winter’s night;

And turned them, each one, into unicorns: white;

“With harness and sleigh and your great horns of gold;

Tonight you’ll pull Santa, like the reindeer of old.”

In the dark dingy attic above Number 10;

Boris and Carrie were sleeping but then;

From the roof o’er their heads there arose such a clatter;

They sprang from their bed to see what was the matter;

Unicorns in harness aren’t easy to steer;

Imagin’ry creatures no match for reindeer;

With no time for practice or training at all;

Santa had crashed, straight into the wall.

As Santa recovered whilst sat on the floor;

Boris rushed out through the famous black door;

His face creased in smiles as he let out a cry;

“I never expected my unicorns to fly”.

“They don’t”, said St Nick, “or at least not as well;

Reindeer do better, as you plainly can tell;

Your lies and dishonesty will ne’er be forgiven;

But I try my best with the team that I’m given.”

Turkeys, they say, never vote for the feast;

It’s longstanding wisdom, for politicians at least;

But Boris was different, with his gift of the gab;

He’d convinced many turkeys the feast would be fab;

A sleigh pulled by unicorns was easily sold;

To those who believed his promise of gold;

His delusions of grandeur came forth at a canter;

He even believed that he could be Santa.

As Santa prepared to return to his work;

He heard Boris moving and turned with a jerk;

To see Boris leap to the seat of the sleigh;

The unicorns impatient to be on their way;

Boris picked up the reins and gave a quick whistle;

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight -

“Happy Christmas to turkeys; to turkeys good night!”

With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore.