Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse.
Poor Dad was kneeling with a piece of Fastrack.
“If this ain’t runnin’ by morning I’ll have an attack.
Box cars were strewn in a pile by on the floor,
Transformers, engines, tossed every which way and more.
When out on the street, there rose such a clatter.
“I hope its Hitchcock to straighten out this disaster.”
Through the door entered an overall clad man.
I could tell by his manners he was to give me a hand.
He spoke not a word and went straight to his work.
Soon the train was running and I felt like a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, out the door he arose;
He sprang to his engine, hit the gas, blew the whistle
and away he then flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.
