Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Texas,
Not a device was charging, not even a Nexus;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nickinson soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their slumbers;
While visions of magic covers danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like my best,
Tore open the shutters and adjusted the Nest.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny Android reviewers I swear,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nickinson.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Jerry! now, Andrew! now Derek and Richard!
On, Alex! on, Anndrew! on, Rich and Brent!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of androids, and St. Nickinson too
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