opusfxd
12-23-2008, 11:06 PM
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Not a stogie was burning, not even a RASS,
The hygrometer was checked with that loving care
In hopes that Pepin Garcia soon would be there;
My cigars were all snug in their boxes,
While visions of smoke rings danced in their caps;
With mamma in her herf shirt and me with a bowl of nightcap,
We settled in for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and tapped off my ash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature humidor, and eight tiny panatela,
With a little old herfer, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be some stick!
With more ligero than egos allow, his rollers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Tatuaje! now, Fuente! now, Trinidad and Fonseca!
On, Bolivar! on Cohiba! on, Tatuaje and Punch!
To the top of the shelf! to the top of them all!
Now ash away! ash away! ash away all!"
As rolled leaves that before the wild herf smoke,
When they meet with a lighter, rings in the sky,
So up to the house-top the rollers they rolled,
making bundles of smokes, and those wonderful sticks too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard someone cough
The coughing and hacking of each little puff.
As I drew on my pipe, and was turning around,
Down the chimney that herfer came with a bound.
He was dressed all in dealer swag, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of cigars he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a herfer just opening his case.
The plume -- how it twinkled! The wrapper how silky!
His fire was like roses, oh what a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the ash on his smoke was as white as the snow;
The smoke in his mouth he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old herfer,
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 everything to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all my hands; I felt like a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He lit another up, to his rollers gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-smoke."
Not a stogie was burning, not even a RASS,
The hygrometer was checked with that loving care
In hopes that Pepin Garcia soon would be there;
My cigars were all snug in their boxes,
While visions of smoke rings danced in their caps;
With mamma in her herf shirt and me with a bowl of nightcap,
We settled in for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and tapped off my ash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature humidor, and eight tiny panatela,
With a little old herfer, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be some stick!
With more ligero than egos allow, his rollers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Tatuaje! now, Fuente! now, Trinidad and Fonseca!
On, Bolivar! on Cohiba! on, Tatuaje and Punch!
To the top of the shelf! to the top of them all!
Now ash away! ash away! ash away all!"
As rolled leaves that before the wild herf smoke,
When they meet with a lighter, rings in the sky,
So up to the house-top the rollers they rolled,
making bundles of smokes, and those wonderful sticks too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard someone cough
The coughing and hacking of each little puff.
As I drew on my pipe, and was turning around,
Down the chimney that herfer came with a bound.
He was dressed all in dealer swag, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of cigars he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a herfer just opening his case.
The plume -- how it twinkled! The wrapper how silky!
His fire was like roses, oh what a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the ash on his smoke was as white as the snow;
The smoke in his mouth he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old herfer,
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 everything to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all my hands; I felt like a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He lit another up, to his rollers gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-smoke."