By M. S. E. P. I KNOW of an Owl, A story-book Owl, And he dwells in a Cloudland tree, So way-high-up you never see A glimpse of the great white fowl. And this ancient fowl, This story-book Owl, Sometimes to himself he speaks— Once in a thousand years or so— In a voice that crackles and creaks And never is heard by the children below: "Tu-whit! tu-whoo! I sleep by day, Of course I do— It's the sensible way." For when little children lie fast asleep, And darkness enshrouds the world so deep, And weary eyes close to gaze only in dreams, This story-book bird With the big round eyes, Whom nothing escapes, So knowing and wise, Watches and peers, with never a wink, Into crannies and nooks where one might think No danger would come, so peaceful it seems. And prying about, this story-book bird In the snowy thick Of a Christmas eve— If you will believe— Just in the nick Found the strangest thing that ever you heard: Santa Klaus asleep, All down in a heap, On the floor of his sleigh Ready packed for the way! And think of the stockings swaying At 'leven o' the night, With the silent firelight All over them fitfully playing— A dangling host From the chimney nails As warm as toast— But empty, pitiful, They promise a million wails From just one city-full! "Tu-whit! to-whoo! Here's a to-do!" Said the sleepless bird, The wise old owl, The watchful fowl. He flew and he whirred, Soft Cloudland exploring, Led up like an arrow By the wildest of snoring, Till he stopped, Then dropped On the edge of a cloud— Oh, the snoring was loud!— Then stalked to that sleigh. Ah, what a fine dose!— He flashed out one claw, and Tweaked Santa Klaus' nose. Santa woke with a jump, Sat up in his sleigh, Rubbed his nose— And I don't suppose Understands to this day— And gazing around he took in the plight, He seized his reins in the funniest fright, And down he came in the snowy midnight All rosy and bright— The great, merry elf, Just like himself, Bluster and noise, nonsense and fun, With gifts for the children, everyone; While, soft and far, every bell Chimed "Twelve o' the clock and all's well!" And the slumbering world might have heard The great white wide-winged story-book bird A-calling "Merry Christmas!" forth in glee As he flew up to his Cloudland tree. And the Owl never told—I alone knew— So don't you tell, whatever you do. How near the world came to a disaster most shocking, Waking Christmas morning without a filled stocking!
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