'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house the occupants were sweating including the mouse.
The stockings were hung by the floor fan with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The children had thrown off the sheets from their beds, while visions of mangos danced in their heads.
And mamma in her tank top and I in my shorts, had just settled down for a long summer night. When out on the street there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
To the open window I flew like a flash, and searched the horizon for signs of a crash. The sky was filled with red, yellow, and blue, as rounds of fireworks exploded till two.
It might be December, without snow and icicles, but for us it’s summer, time for swimming and bicycles.