07/03/2026
'Twas the Night Before the Fourth
'Twas the night before the Fourth, when all through the store
Not a firework was stirring, not even a ground flower;
The mortars were stacked by the counter with care,
In hopes that the big rush soon would be there.
The customers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of bottle rockets danced in their heads;
And Mama in her tank top, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a short summer’s nap,
When out on the parking lot there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the front door I flew like a flash,
Tore open the locks and threw up the sash.
The moon on the asphalt, all shiny and bright,
Gave the lustre of midday to fireworks in sight,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature rocket sleigh and eight flying flares,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Wick.
More rapid than cherry bombs his courses they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Now, Roman! Now, Candle! Now, Fountain and Sky!
On, Mortar! On, Peony! On, Cake and Goodbye!
To the top of the roof! To the top of the wall!
Now blast away! Blast away! Blast away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild summer wind fly,
When they meet with a match they shoot to the sky,
So up to the rooftop the fireworks they flew,
With the sleigh full of shells, and St. Wick too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The popping and cracking of each little fuse.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Wick came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red, white, and blue from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all singed with powder and soot.
A bundle of fireworks he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a vendor 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 fresh snow.
The stump of a sparkler 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 box of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old pyre,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of the fire.
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 shelves, 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 team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the sparks of a missile.
But I heard him exclaim, as he blasted out of sight,
"Happy Fourth to all, and to all a good night!"
🎇🇺🇸🦅
