'Twas the Night Before Christmas...If Only.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the House

Not an MP was stirring, not even for grouse.

The stockings were hung by the Speaker’s big chair,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The MPs were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of luxury danced in their heads.

And Dave in his cashmere and Gids dressed in silk,

Thought not of the children from whom they stole milk.

When out in the grounds there arose such a clatter,

But the MPs stirred not, by poverty matters.

St Nicholas appeared with his elves and reindeer,

And checked on his ‘Good List’ – 'twas a short one this year.

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound,

He perused all the MPs, then turning around,

He spied all their stockings, enormous and mink,

And stroked his white beard as he had a rethink.

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

And filled all the stockings, even those of the jerks.

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

He made sure that next year, the poor had nothing to dread.

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He rewarded the good ones, who’d rallied against cuts,

Who’d challenged the bankers with their bonus filled guts,

Who’d fought for disabled, for children, the poor,

Who recognised society couldn’t cope any more.

The others slept on unaware of their fate:

Frozen assets, P45s, a notice to vacate

Their homes, their mansions, their seats in the house,

He left them all this and a sugar pink mouse,

And jobs at Tesco, care of the Workfare programme

Where they would learn very quickly just how to give a damn.

He sprang to his sleigh, his sack filled with treasure,

And sped off to distribute it, with fair and just measure.

As he left he exclaimed, as he flew out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."