Loren Watson
Contributing Writer
‘Twas the night before Snowpocalypse when all through the frat house
Every creature was stirring, even the performative mouse;
The Moose heads were hung on the house walls with care;
In hopes that Snowpocalypse soon would be there;
The Snus were nestled all snug in their capes;
While visions of keg stands danced in their dreamscapes;
And Fijis in kilts and I in my gown,
Were laughing and joking
About Delt’s deck burning down;
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the double-decker table to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like an electric scooter,
Tore open the shutters and saw a frat guy doing a shooter.
The moon crested on Lake Trez before snow,
Gave a lustre of snowpocalypse to Sewanee below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a comically large red chair and eight tiny beers
With a little old driver so lively and suave
I knew in a moment he must be St. Rob.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now Natty, Now Coors, now Busch and Budweiser!
On, Heineken, Corona, Modelo, and Miller!
To the top of Fiji’s rafters, till the time of snowfall,
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!
So up to the frat house the beers they flew
With the sleigh full of snow, and St. Rob too –
And then, in a twinkling, I heard the caravan
The prancing and pawing of each little can
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Rob came with a bound.
He was dressed in his robes from head to foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with snow and soot;
A bundle of canceled classes he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack,
HIs eyes- how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eyes and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And iced the whole campus, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his chair, to his team gave a ring
And away they all flew like SPD’s ticketing.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight-
“Happy Snowpocalypse, all, and to all a good night!”