‘Twas the Night Before Christmas in the Book Shop so neat,
Where silence held court, making stillness complete.
The tomes were arranged on the shelves with such care,
In hopes that the shoppers soon would be there.
The volunteers were nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of book sales danced in their heads.
With the Friends in their jammies, and I with my cap,
Had just settled down for a long bookish nap.
When out on Big Beaver there arose such a shock,
Like headers unleashed from a 4-5-5’s block.
To the casement I flew, like a page in the wind,
Drew back the curtains, let moonlight stream in.
The streetlights on asphalt cast shadows so bright,
Made Troy Public Library glow gold in the night.
Then what should appear through the crisp winter air?
A T-Top Trans Am sliding sideways with flair!
With a white-bearded driver, so cool and so slick,
In racing gloves crimson, it must be St. Nick!
His suit was all velvet, no soot could you spy,
While his Poncho ride made old Smokey sigh.
With his mirror-like shades that reflected the snow,
He looked like the Bandit without Carrie in tow.
Books stacked on the deck, he drifted with grace,
Past our quaint little Book Shop at midnight’s embrace.
He braved the cold hour, with no time to spare,
To bring joy to readers, new stories to share.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his task,
Filling wishes for books that no one need ask.
Then touched near his shades with a knowing half-smile,
And struck a pose worthy of Motor City style.
Then upright in the TA, gave the motor a whistle,
And cruised straight away on his Muscle Car missile.
But I heard him exclaim as he thundered from sight,
“Merry Christmas to Troy, and to Friends a Good Night!”