Not a Podcaster was stirring, not even a Mic.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Eddie soon would be there.
While visions of pepperoni pizza danced in their heads.
And Billy in his ‘Sweater, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like The Flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The sun on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Hatchback car, and several a beard hair.
With a podcast driver, so lively and steady,
I knew in a moment it must be St Eddie.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now, Mic 1! now, Mic 2! now, Macbook and Garageband!
On, Mic check! On, mic checki! on, Testing and 1,2!
To the top of the gain! to the top of the recording!
Now Podcast away! Podcast away! Podcast away all!"
He sprang to the car, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all drove 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!"