Forgive me Clement Clarke Moore (1779 – 1863).
In hopes the Funders soon would be there.
The Holiday show was finally put to bed,
While visions of JC danced in our head.
And Maggie in her “kerchief” and I in my cap,
Had settled our brains for a long video app.
When out in the parking lot there arose a clatter,
I sprang off the sofa to see what was the matter.
Away to the doors I flew like a flash,
Tore into the lobby with a smash.
The moon on the wet asphalt aglow
Gave a lustre of mid-day to object below.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
The ghost of Hamlet from a script held dear.
The little old actor, with a smile so quick,
I knew in a moment it must be a trick.
Being off-book remembering all, on he came,
And he shouted out all the cues he could name.
Now lights, now sound, now co-star you vixen,
On, follow spot, on music don’t forget mixin’
To down stage center! Call to the top of the hall!
Now exit stage right! Dash away! Dash away all!
Once off sage he went straight to the strike,
And removed his costume, then his mic.
And laying his script on the dressing table,
And giving a nod, and put on his sable.
He sprang to his limo, to his chauffeur a whistle,
And away they flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, and the words did flow,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good show. “