Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what next I saw would for sure seal my fate, His Holy Hotness, and eight of his mates. With a sexy Brit actor, a wonky heart throb, I knew in a moment it must be Saint Rob. More rapid than fangirls, the Britpack they came, And he whistled, and shouted and called them by name. Now TomStu! Now A. Garf! Now Johnny and Lee! On Samuel! On Marcus! On Bear and Bobby! To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all! And then in a twinkling we heard on the RA roof, The prancing and dancing of each little foot. As I drew in my head and was turning around, Down the chimney Saint Robert came with his hound. He was dressed like a hobo, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with dumpster soot. A bundle of Twi toys, he had flung on his back And he looked like he was homeless, 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,
But the beard on his chin was just, HELL NO! The stump of a cigarette he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a strong face and a happy trail belly,
That gets us all going, like a bowlful of jelly! He was adorkable and filter-less, a right giggly old elf,
And I gaped when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a smirk of his lips,
Soon made me think, I sure hope he strips! He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a smirk.
And giving his knuckles a jolly good crack,
He thanked us for supporting him through Rob Attack!
He sprang to our bed while his team gave a whistle,
But he sent them away, like the down of a thistle.
Then we heard him exclaim, ‘ere they drove out of sight,
“Happy Robmas to all, I’m staying with my girls tonight!”