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  • Writer's pictureMGeslock

The Night Before Christmas at the Beehive

With my apologizes to Clement Clarke Moore

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the hive

As a first year beekeeper, I don’t know, are my bees still alive?

The feeders were packed full of sugar with care

As I hoped that my queen still would be there

The bees were clustered all snug in their comb

While outside stood guard, a short garden gnome

With me in my bee suit and my veil as a cap

Had just settled my brain for a long winter's nap

When out on the apiary there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my workshop to see what was the matter.

Away to the hives I flew to see what I’d discover

Tore open the bear fence and peeked under the cover

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave a luster of midday to bees below,

When what to my wondering eyes did I see,

But a there was my queen and all of her bees,

With a little old driver so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment he must be St Nick

More rapid than mad hornets they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, Bumble! Now, Buzzy! Now Apis and Clover!

On Honey! On Waxie!, let the rest of the girls come over!

To the top of the hive! 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 hive tools, and St. Nicholas too—

And then all of a sudden, I heard on the roof

A whining and buzzing and of their wings as proof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly

That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of honey.

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 head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the comb; 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 sleigh, to his colony gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

And I heard him exclaim with all of his might ..

Merry Christmas to the beekeepers and do not get stung tonight.

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