’Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house,
There reigned some confusion:
Where is the ‘mouse'?
Here is its cable - but look at the end
Where the mouse used to be, a curious bend!
’Twas the night before Christmas,
Instead of sweet moments,
Felonious Santa was looking for rodents.
His sack sort of rattled as mice of all sizes
Were bundled together with other surprises.
He’d taken some keyboards, an iPad and phones.
His trespass was endless - he’d even got drones.
With wild disregard for the right of possession,
Old Santa gave rein to his latest obsession.
His sleigh made an arc over village and town,
Magnetically lifting things not tied down.
Cables were snapping, disturbing each dog,
The digital world had become analogue.
“Ho, ho” quoth the saint in his time-honoured way,
“It’s time for God’s creatures to learn how to play -
And polite conversation shall come through the land,
As Grandmas and Grandpas each take a stand,
And bring out the games and venture to speak
In the language they learnt - though the memory’s weak.”
Their span of attention severely encrypted,
Each child and its parents were strangely uplifted.
The sound of a sentence with soft syncopation,
Fell on the ears of a marvelling nation.
And thumbs, that Nature had lately opposed,
No longer touched screens but clumsily closed
On items they’d somehow contrived how to grip:
A box - transmogrified into a ship.
While felonious Santa rattled away,
May the spirit of Christmas return - for one day!
