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'Twas the Night Before Christmas
Recently, I received an amusing rendition of this famous poem by email. The author's clever trick was that he substituted wine stuff and internet wine personalities for the actual words of the poem. I was also advised that this was something in the public domain and nobody remembered who did it.
Well, I did it! I first published it about three years ago on Prodigy. Since it's circulating now to, ahem, a wider audience, may I say two things: Have a great Holiday Season, and here's the original version! Substitute the names of your own friends.
Twas the night before Christmas when all through the cave,
Not a bottle was open, not even the Chave!
The wine racks were stocked in the cellar with care,
In hopes that Bob Parker soon would be there.
The magnums nestled on a big bottom rack,
While Portos were standing alone in the back.
And the champagnes were chilling in buckets of ice
With the Sauternes awaiting foie gras by the slice.
When by the port tongs I heard a bottle shatter,
Saw Johnson looking guilty, "Why, whatever's the matter?"
Then away to my stash, I flew like a flash,
And searched the racks in fear of someone so brash.
The light on the rim of the uncorked porto
Confirmed all my fears, and thus I said, "OH, NO!"
The '90s were open, their corks strewn about,
When out on the lawn I heard a loud shout!
I knew in a moment it must be RP,
For he sniffed, he swirled and he shouted quite freely:
"Now, Lampkin, now Kramer, now Wolfe, now Creasey,
On Nathan, on Ein, on Yaniger and Sherry..."
Those gnarled little gnomes did jump from the vehicle
Helping Parker with cases of verticals....
His shoulders drooped because of the jeroboams,
"But," he muttered, "La Chapelle!"--and added Rhones.
And then in a twinkling I heard by the rack
The clatter of each bottle removed from his sack.
A wink of his eye, a twist of his head,
And all the racks were filled, even the red.
Magnificent vintages, all the best potables,
To make our night ever more notable.
Then he ran to his Vinotheque, looking like Bacchus,
Leaving Latour, Silver Oak, La Tache and Petrus.
With our cave at capacity, the future bright,
Fonseca in one hand, Yquem by his right,
I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and I KNOW you'll sleep tight!"
(I've been a GOOD boy, 'n' I sure hope Robert Parker visits me....!)
Copyright © 1997, all rights reserved, Mark Squires.