‘Twas three months after Christmas, when in Kai Fa Qu
Blake Defieux’s waist had expanded an inch, maybe two;
For back in December, treats were snail-mailed with care
To send our best wishes to all of you over there;
Their friends were nestled all snug in their beds,
While China Post worked to move all the cards that’d been sent;
To Blake in one box, to save them a buck,
When late it arrived, he couldn’t believe his good luck.
In addition to cards there was candy and baking,
That Michelle toiled for hours in planning and making.
To Sandy, ran Blake, quick as a flash,
And said “Looky, oh looky, this is quite a stash!”
“They’re all on vacation, the mail is so slow
If we ate all the treats, well, they’d never know.”
“Well,” said Sandy, ”A nice treat has appeared”,
But to eat them ourselves wouldn’t be quite right dear.”
But we sent him an email and he read it out quick,
“Everyone’s gone, so eating baking’s no trick.”
More rapid than eagles his hunger it came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and ate treats by name:
“Now, Twizzler! now, Cookie! now, Dainty I’ll take!
On, Cupcake! on, Candy Cane! on, Christmas Cake!
I’ll eat in the family room, I’ll eat in the hall!
Now eat away! eat away! eat away all!”
As dry leaves that before spring still do fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So do the weeks, nay months, how they flew,
And now, well it’s Spring, well past April Fools.
And so, in a twinkling, you might hear at school
The prancing and pawing of Blakey Defieux.
As he draws to your mailbox, slinking around,
Or maybe your desk, dropping a card without a sound.
He’ll be dressed in loose clothing from his head to his foot,
To hide his big belly, where your treats were all put;
A bundle of cards he’ll have flung on his back,
There’s more than his marking this week in his pack.
His eyes–how they shift! His approach – oh, how wary!
His cheeks like roses, his embarrassment very!
His droll little mouth’ll be drawn up like a bow,
‘Cause he knows Darren Brown, o’er the top will he go;
But Blakey Defieux’s a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I hear this, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon he’ll fix his small wrong, he’ll put it to bed;
He’ll speak not a word, but go straight to his work,
And deliver all the cards; though he feels like a jerk,
For he had forgotten them in his office for months,
Eaten the sweets, then not thought of them once;
He’ll then spring to his taxi, give the driver a whistle,
And away will he fly like the down of a thistle.
But you’ll hear him exclaim, ere he squeals out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”