‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Village,
Not a person was stirring in our town on the Blue Ridge.
The stockings were hung at the State Theatre with care,
In hopes that the Vagabond soon would be there.

Lilian’s goats were nestled all snug in their bed,
While visions of BBQ sauce danced in Starr’s head.
At Mayor Nick’s office, and in The Wrinkled Egg store,
They switched off the lights; turned the key in the door.

When on Greenville Highway, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to The Rock, to see what was the matter.
There high overhead, in the starry night sky,
I saw the Spirit of Christmas, a jolly old guy!

In a twinkling, he was standing atop Campfire’s roof,
I know it sounds crazy, but I’m telling the truth,
Down the chimney he slid, and popped out a bit sooty,
With his cap all askew and a small rip on his booty.

He dashed to the bar, and then to the kitchen,
Collecting some goodies, he quaffed just a smidgen.
His hands were a blur, but he packed with precision,
Rubbing my eyes; I thought I might lose my religion.

So lively and quick, with his eyes all a glowing,
A red sack he crammed full, it was quite over-flowing,
Then with a nod and a wink, he was gone in a flash,
He was back in his sleigh, and off with a dash.

I watched as he went to each business we know,
From color to color; up and down Rainbow Row.
Each shop that he visited, ne’er a sound did he make,
He went to his work, leaving good cheer in his wake.

To Dogwood, the Bakery, the Old Post Office he flew,
To ShareWell for coffee, and then Fire Station Two.
He stopped in the Cinema to see what it showed,
White Christmas was playing; he cried when it snowed.

He continued to Blue Ruby and Gallery Flat Rock,
The speed of his team honestly gave me a shock,
Then onto Season’s, where more goodies he collected,
He was all magic and mirth, just as I suspected.

He filled his red sacks with gifts and bright treasures,
They piled so high, I don’t think you could measure,
Then he let out a shout, and called to his team,
As they jumped to the bit, his eyes seemed to gleam.

To Kenmure, to Claremont, to Argyle, let’s fly.
To Ravenswood, and Kingwood, to Dunroy on high.
They flew and they flew, making a dazzling loop,
To Stonebridge, to Staton, and then Chanteloupe.

To Five Oaks, to Trenholm, to old Mountain Lodge,
The St. John’s bell tower, the team had to dodge.
Over The Park and past Carl’s Connemara,
His sleigh streaked across the moon’s yellow aura.

To Beaumont and Woodfield and Highland Lake Inn,
The list is so long, I hardly know where to begin.
Over King Creek and to the top of Big Glassy,
With gifts for all Rockers, even Marty who’s sassy.

His team never rested, they were on to Bonclarken,
Where every room with a tree, his shadow did darken.
To Boxwood, to Embrook, to The Little Hill dwelling,
From Many Pines, to Sherwood, his list just kept on swelling.

And on the skids of his sleigh, there perched a strange elf,
Handing out presents, ‘cept those he kept for himself.
I knew by his voice and the odd way he would chortle,
Clearly Scott Treadway is more than mere mortal.

To Sky Top, to Berwick and the Lakes at Flat Rock,
So many places, it was hard to take stock.
To Rutledge, to Brooklyn, to Stonybrook, too.
To every house in the Village, I promise it's true.

His team soared through the night, to Highland Lake Village,
Where he drank so much milk, I fear he suffered some spillage.
Then down the train tracks, to East Flat Rock he hurried,
Where children and parents did not need to be worried.

From chimney to chimney, on the long River Road,
The pace of his deliveries, they never slowed.
Then a detour he made, to the old Mill House Lodge,
The route of his trip, was somewhat hodge-podge.

To Tranquility, Teneriffe, and The Cottages he flew,
The gifts and the treats from his red bag he threw.
His sleigh streaked through the sky, ‘twas quite meteoric,
Over the entire Flat Rock District, it was rather Historic!

Now, I’m sure in those houses he saw quite a lot,
Some of which no doubt he wished he forgot.
The old man in his tub, rubba dub scrubba,
A young couple in love, enjoying Hubba Hubba.

Finally he arrived at my little house,
I made not a sound; stood still as a mouse.
He was portly and ruddy, and really quite round,
His nose was bright red, like that of a clown.

Straight to the tree, he carried his pack,
And piled up presents, in both front and back.
Then he turned and saw me back in the far corner,
My face turned quite crimson; the room got much warmer.

But St. Nick just smiled and crinkled his nose,
He’s used to insomniacs, I can only suppose.
Then he gave me a wink, and with a knowing head nod,
Disappeared in an instant, like my favorite eggnog.

I ran to the window, as fast as a whistle,
Saw him jump in his sleigh, now I end this epistle.
And I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL,
…AND TO FLAT ROCK, A GOOD NIGHT!