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A Visit from St. Triumph

I posted this last year at this time. I figured there are a few new
people on the list that haven't had the chance to enjoy it. It's my
Christmas gift to the list.

"A Visit from St. Triumph"

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house 
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; 
The panniers were hung by the front door with care, 
In hopes that St. Triumph soon would be there; 

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, 
While visions of carbon fiber danced in their heads; 
And mamma in her leathers, and I in my cap, 
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap, 

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, 
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. 
After a night of too many hops and barley,
I prayed that the noise didn't come from a Harley.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below, 
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, 
But a miniature bike, with three cylindeer, 

With a little old driver, so lively and spry, 
I knew in a moment it must be St. Tri. 
More rapid than eagles his partners they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; 

'Now, LEGEND! now, T-BIRD! now, TRIPLE and TROPHY! 
On, ST! on RS! on, TT and BONNIE! 
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! 
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!' 

As squids that before the policemen will fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, 
So up to the house-top the riders they flew, 
With the bikes full of toys, and St. Triumph too. 

And then, in a twinkling, I heard near the spire
The thumping and bumping of each little tire. 
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, 
Down the chimney St. Triumph came with a bound. 

He was dressed all in leather, not one lick of fleece, 
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and grease; 
A pannier of toys he had at each side, 
And he looked like a old friend just in from a ride. 

His eyes -- how they twinkled! oh, what a delight! 
His cheeks were like roses, his nose, a taillight! 
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, 
And it looked like forks instead of legs below; 

The stump of a tailpipe he held like a bugger, 
And the smoke it encircled his head like a hugger; 
He had a broad face and a little round belly, 
That shook, when he laughed like a nasty old H-D. 

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, 
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; 
A wink of his eye and a twist of his wrist, 
Soon gave me to know I got what I wished; 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, 
And filled all the panniers; 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 bike, to his team gave a whistle, 
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. 
But I heard him exclaim, ere he rode out of town, 

- -- 
Steve "Devil Dawg" Lawler

In 1555, Nostradamus wrote: 
   "Come the millennium, month 12, 
    In the home of greatest power, 
    The village idiot will come forth 
    To be acclaimed the leader."

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