‘Twas the night before Christmas
Cold and snowy and shit
But warm and cozy by the fire
In my comfy chair I did sit

I turned off the cable news
To avoid that face so orangey
And nosed my Glencairn glass
Filled with sweet Glenmorangie

He’d come bearing gifts
My bro-in-law St. David
Bottles of Astar and Bacalta
You might guess I was elated

Bacalta’s finished in casks
Where Malmsey Madeira matured
Thick warm honey predominates
And decadent toffee notes endured

It finished so smooth
And made me want another
Now admit it, don’t you wish
That St. David was your brother?

But still there’s more
The Astar yet awaited
In Gaelic that means journey
And so of course I libated

Hot and dry it begins
The initial hit soon mellows
Vanilla, oak, and cinnamon
Plus mango and tangelos

The color was pale golden
The nose so rich and creamy
Complex and round it filled the mouth
With a finish that was just dreamy

About that point I heard on the roof
A clatter so proverbial
Except by now I was unable
To conjure clauses adverbial

Then down my chimney did clamber
A gentleman quite portly
He saw my dram and asked for one
With manners oh so courtly

We drank and laughed and shared our Scotch
That red-suited man and I
We drank a toast to old St. Dave
And agreed he’s a helluva guy

We sipped and sighed and then he flew
Away with his reindeer friends
I put out the fire and put on my cap
And this is where my story ends.