Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Inn,
Not a sound could be heard, not the drop of a pin.
The doilies were laid out on the table with care,
Protecting fine cherry wood from nicks, dings, and wear.
The guests were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Crepes Suzette danced in their heads.
And marmalade jelly served on warm golden rolls,
An assortment of cereals in fine hand-hewn bowls.
When out on the lawn there came such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
With my cell phone and bat in my hands holding tight,
I peered through the door into the dark winter night.