‘Twas The Cheesy Night Before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ the house,
Not a grilled cheese was grilling, not even for a spouse,
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Cheese-a-lot soon would be there,
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of meatloaf grilled cheese danc’d in their heads,
And Mom in her aprin, and her team in their caps,
Had just settled the grill for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the sidewalk there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the truck to see what was the matter.
Away to the order window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the rain cover, and threw up the cash.
The moon on the edge of the new melted cheese,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to snacks that please;
When, what to my wondering staff should appear,
But a man with the munchies, after too many beer.
With a little old smile, so lively and hot,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Cheese-o-lot.
More rapid than the lunch crowd, his buddies they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and call’d them by name:
“Now, Chesehead, now Pickle, now Angie, and Bacon,
“On Sourdough, on White, on French and get makin’!
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the truck roof,
The prancing and pawing of each cheesy hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the grill vent St. Cheese-o-lot came with a bound:
He was dress’d all in cheese, from his head to his toes,
And his clothes were all grilled with butter and bows;
A bundle of bread was flung on his back,
And he look’d like a foodie just opening his pack.
His eyes – how they twinkled! His condiments how merry,
His cheeks were like roses, his Coke-a-Cola was cherry;
His assorted cheeses were drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin with crumbs like snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it smelled funny, but not like a wreath!
He had a broad face, and a little Brier belly
That shook when he laugh’d, like Gouda and jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old self,
And I laugh’d very hard, he looked like Will Farrell in Elf.
A flip of his spatula and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had enough bread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And flipping cheese sandwiches; then turn’d with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the grill vent he rose.
He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a yo!
And away they all flew, like a cheese delivery on the go.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight-
A cheesy Christmas to all, and to all a cheesy night.

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