Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the yard,
All the switchmen were switching, some working quite hard.
The grips were all hung by the shanty with care,
In the hopes that a time slip would soon show up there.
The trainmasters were nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of test failures danced in their heads.
The hogger in his kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a sneakey quick nap.
When out in the yard there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from our motor to see “what’s the matter?”
Away from the cab, I flew in a flash,
To line all the switches, and stop a bad crash.
The moon on the field of new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a worn out SD40, dragging eight old reindeer.
Run by an old hogger, who looked like St. Nick,
I knew in a moment, I had to act quick.
At yard speed the 40 down my lead he now came,