a ‘new night before christmas’ poem

A couple of months ago, Amazon ran a competition to write a new ‘Night Before Christmas’ for the modern day. Needless to say I didn’t win – I have read the winning entry and it is wonderfully unique and imaginitive (something I need to get better at) – however I thoroughly enjoyed writing my entry:

It was the night before Christmas, the house was all quiet, 

Everyone was fast asleep… except, that is, for Violet. 

She’d waited ’til she heard her dad, start to loudly snore, 

Then up she leapt, out of her bed, and headed through her door. 


She tiptoed down the creaky stairs, as silent as could be, 

She peeked out of the window, were those snowflakes she could see? 

The garden path, it sparkled, where this evening she had spread, 

Some reindeer dust for Rudolph, so he knew just where to head. 


Along the hall and past the kitchen, she very quietly crept, 

In there was lots of yummy food, that mum had carefully prepped, 

A goose with all the trimmings, and a Christmas cake as well, 

Tomorrow would be magical, of that she could just tell.                                                                                                                                               

And then she reached the living room, all lit up by the tree, 

Its fairy lights were twinkling bright, allowing her to see.

It was strewn with coloured tinsel, big baubles and an angel, 

And underneath were presents, all wrapped and neatly labelled. 


Her Christmas sack hung by the fire, it still looked rather empty, 

Santa Claus would be here soon, with his sleigh of gifts aplenty. 

She knew he had not been yet, for upon the fireplace,  

Was the mince pie, milk and carrot that she’d left there on a plate. 


She sat down on the sofa, to await her special visitor, 

In her hand was Mummy’s phone, all poised to snap a picture. 

But the next thing, she was waking up, to bright daylight outside, 

How very sad poor Violet was, she really could have cried. 


But then she saw her sack of gifts, and her mood it quickly changed, 

A bright pink bear, a tea set, a jigsaw and some games. 

The mince pie, milk and carrot were nothing more than crumbs, 

But where they’d been was Mummy’s phone, with black soot on the front. 


She picked it up with wonder, and her eyes lit up with glee, 

A photo of the man himself, a Santa Claus selfie! 

His round red face and big white beard, filled the tiny frame, 

It was the best day ever – Father Christmas really came!


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