With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore…

T’was the night before Christmas, on an island we know
Not a creature was stirring, not above or below.
Kate’s stockings were hung from a palm tree with care,
But many are hoping she’ll have nothing to wear;
The beach folk were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of rescue boats danced in their heads;
And Sun, back from her garden, rests on Jin’s lap,
They just settled down for a well-deserved nap,

When out in the jungle there arose such a clatter,
Jack sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
And from the bunker, Locke flew like a flash,
Sayid, Sawyer and Kate soon joined in the dash.
The moonlight shone on those gathering below
Hurley, Charlie and Claire and those we don’t know,
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But a magnificent desk pulled by eight polar bear,

With a little elf driver, so wicked and bad,
They knew right away it must be The Nomad.
Gathering round the desk, his minions they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
Now, Carlton! now, Leonard! Now, Adam and Javi!
On, Allison! On Liz! On, Craig and on Burky!
To finish the season I’ll need big mysteries!
Now write away! Write away! Write, if you please!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
The pages were flying, the scripts piled to the sky,
And soon every islander grabbed hold of a page,
Hoping their character would continue to age.
And then, in a twinkling, came a moment of truth;
The character Shannon disappeared with a *poof.
The Tailies appeared and began milling around,
When The Nomad leapt onto the desk with a bound.

He was dressed in blue jeans, tennis shoes on his feet,
And his Star Wars t-shirt made him look pretty neat;
A personal computer he pulled from his pack,
Joined the frenzy of writing, as he had quite the knack .
His eyes -- how they twinkled! His grin made them wary!
A few keystrokes could leave them someone to bury!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave them to know there was something to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And handed out scripts; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, the polar bears rose;
He sprang to his desk, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, but you’d better sleep light!"


Bob/OMF
tongue firmly in cheek