Monday, December 24, 2012

A Christmas Poem

Twas the night before Christmas, and down in the lab
Olivr was decorating; making things fab.
The stockings were hung, and I mean with a noose,
Since Professor Obsidian had some screws loose.
The other bots were charging, plugged in with their cords,
Downloading visions of robotic hordes.
And with the Prof on the roof readying war vs elf,
Olivr was left down all by himself.
When up on the roof the Prof's voice had blared,
But this was New York and nobody cared.
Olivr ran to roof faster than ever before,
Got up the stairs and threw open the door.
With the moon and the city giving off such a glow,
He could see everything, but the Prof's a no-show.
Something went wrong, likely a misfire,
But then the little bot's gaze lifted still higher.
A red blur in the sky moving without a pause,
Olivr knew in his circuits it must be the Claus!
Moving still faster and in the other direction,
Another blur flew, who it was there's no question.
"Now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer and Vixen,
Comet and Cupid, dear Donner and Blitzen,
Don't worry about Magnus interfering our flight,
His nets have misfired, he's launched out of sight!"
Santa then laughed and Rudolph's nose grew quite bright,
As they were safe in the knowledge they'd now have no fight.
So they circled the rooftops, filling the sky with joy,
Dropping off gifts for each girl and boy.
And then in a blink, on the new lab's small roof,
They landed by Olivr, both boot and hoof.
There wasn't a chimney, but no one would frown,
The little bot led the way and they took the stairs down.
Down and down they went, to abandoned subways,
The little bot taking St. Nick through the maze.
Leading past monsters and components on racks,
They went to a spot Santa could stop and relax.
With the tree and the stockings, the ornaments and light,
Olivr's work made the room seem so cheerfully bright.
He offered the cookies and offered the milk,
Just like any good child and all of their ilk.
Yet something was different and this St. Nick knew,
This brain was all metal, the heart gears and glue.
Yet he was treated the same, with no question or strife,
For all the ill the Prof did, he still gave this bot life.
The jolly old fat man, well, he did just the same,
He knew better than to think the electronic mind was a game.
So he reached in his sack and got more than one gift,
Some upgrades, some toys, to give spirits a lift.
Most were for Olivr, but not the whole stock,
One still for Obsidian, probably a rock.
Then a wink of his eye, POOF, disappear,
Up back to the roof and off with the reindeer.
After "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
The front door crashed open and, oh, what a sight.
"Professor, what happened? You look like burnt toast!"
"It's a long story, I'm not telling, but I blame the ghost."
So another Christmas came, and away it had went,
And in Obsidian's plan, there was a huge dent.
He didn't get the sack, nor steal the red sleigh,
But for Olivr, that night led to a great day.
Happy Holidays everyone.

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