A rewrite of a classic and the author, Christopher Watkins, shares that his version is written with both respect for, and apologies to, Clement Clarke Moore, the author of the original “The Night Before Christmas”
Let us know if you like the "Winey" version!
‘Twas The Night Before: The Ballad of Old Saint Wine, The Holiday Wine Elf
By Christopher Watkins on 12/23/2011
‘Twas the night before tomorrow
and all through the kitchen
not a bottle was decanted
not even the Lytton
And the wine rack was set
on the counter with care
in hopes that new bottles
soon would be there
Kids the world over
all snug in their beds
as visions of verticals
danced in my head
And mama with a zin,
(a magnum, not a fifth)
was trying to bribe me
to wrap up some gifts
When out on the lawn
there arose such a clatter
I sprang from the floor
to see what was the matter
Away to the window
to see what I’d find
I pulled on the cord
and opened the blinds
The moon on the breast
of the new-fallen snow
branches making shadows
like the prongs of an Ah So
When what, to my wondering
eyes should appear
But an American Oak barrel
pulled by 6 strong wine-deer
And a little old driver
on the barrel, supine
and I knew in a moment
it must be Saint Wine!
More rapid than pump-overs
the wine-deer they came
and he whistled and shouted
and called them by name
“Now Merlot, now Syrah,
now you too Chardonnay
On Zin, on Grenache,
and on Cabernet!
To the top of the porch,
to the top of the wall
now dash away, dash away
dash away all!”
So up to the house-top
the wine-deer, they flew
with that neutral oak barrel
and Old Saint Wine too!
And then in a twinkling
I heard on the roof
the prancing and pawing
of each little hoof
As I drew in my head
and was turning around
down the chimney St. Wine
came with a bound
He was dressed all in grapeskins
from his head to his foot
and his tannins were tarnished
with ashes and soot
And a casebox of wine
he flung on his shoulder
A fine mix of vintages
from younger to older
His dimples, how merry
his eyes, such a blue
his teeth, once so white
now a purplish hue!
His moist little mouth
was open to speak
As his beard, white as snow
lined with thin purple streaks
The stump of a cigar
on his lip, balanced handily
with the smoke reaching upwards
like leaves in the canopy
He had a broad face
a little round belly
that shook when he laughed
like Cabernet jelly
He was chubby and plump
a right tipsy old elf
and I laughed when I saw him
in spite of myself
A wink of his eye
and a twist of his head
soon gave me to know
I had nothing to dread
He hummed to himself
then, as if just to tempt me
he filled up the wine rack
‘til no slot was empty
And laying his finger
aside of his nose
and giving a nod
up the chimney he rose
He sprang to his barrel
to the team gave a sign
and away they all flew
like the dew on a vine
But I heard him exclaim
in the winter moonshine
A good wine to all,
and to all a good wine.