Well, it’s the Holiday season yet again. The trees are dying. The snow is falling. The girls are wearing heavy coats. Yet, there’s still one thing that’s lacking: Christmas poetry. Now before you click away, let me explain. Many families read Christmas poems and it’s never a pain. So in order to make The Quill more festive, here are some poems, so please, don’t be restive.

This first one is an original written by myself that’s all about things you can buy off the shelf.

A Christmas Buyer’s Guide

The Christmas season is back once more, and

Many of us have people we shop for.

If you’re out of ideas or have no clue

Here’s a poem to tell you what to do.

Your friends probably won’t ask you for much

But they usually like good albums and such.

For all the ladies out there, bracelets and jewelry might be nice

Quality at low expense now that there’s no pumpkin spice.

I’m sure that most people’s mothers would love

Some nice earrings or chocolates from Dove.

The dads in your life will most likely enjoy

Golf passes or new tools instead of a toy.

Little siblings’ faces’ will shine with glee

When you get them some candy or a new baseball tee.

Cousins, aunts, and uncles are in for surprise

When you get them gift cards for burgers and fries.

If you’re still lost for gift ideas, don’t fret.

You have a few weeks to find those gifts yet.

Just remember this thought before you run out and start

Looking all around for gifts to fill up your cart.

It doesn’t have to be big and it doesn’t have to be art

The only requirement is that it must come from the heart.

This next one is not an original, but more a retelling of A Visit from Saint Nicholas by Clement Clark Moore.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a Panther was stirring, not even Coach Roush;

The stockings were hung by the tower with care,

In hopes that The Panther soon would be there;

The students were nestled all snug on their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And Ruffing in his ‘kerchief, and I for my sake,

Had just settled down for a long winter’s break,

When out on the Pit there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the desk to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what my wondering eyes were aware,

But a miniature football, and eight large players,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be The Panther.

More rapid than Lancers his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Nieman! Now, Mazza! Now, Marsh and Faillace!

On, Lenhardt! On Murphy! On, Slocum and Tepe!

To the end of the field! to the top of the tower!

Now dash away! dash away with all your power!”

As players that before the game’s end score

When they meet in the endzone, cheer with a roar,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the bus full of toys, and The Panther too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,

Down the Tower the Panther came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, 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 student opening his backpack.

He was charming and fit, a right jolly young cat,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of all that;

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 filled all the lockers; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his hand aside of his ear,

He listened intently to the spirits and cheer;

He sprang to his bus, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the flight of a missile.

But I heard him exclaim, ere the students were awake,

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good break.”