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Twas the night before yule, and being quite thorough,
Though all else are sleeping, is one little burro.
"They say Santa will come", she says to herself. "But just in case not, I'll become an elf."
From stocking to stocking, she moves quiet, with luck, no one will catch her, not even Ahpuch.
Into each hanging, so bright red and snowy, she slides a small parcel, one simple, not showy.
When morning time comes, whether any reindeer lands, there are gifts from the pooka, made by her own hands.
A bookmark! A dozen! One for each girl and boy: or countess, maid or steward, they all share the joy.
With gold stars on purple, or musical notes, or spiders, or kittens, or literary quotes,
Each fabric wrapped cardstock is made such a way, to match the taste or aesthetic of every fae.
And with a ribbon that states their own name, as though the design would not tell you the same.
And she can only hope for a smile on their faces, knowing they can now read without losing their places.
On Dickens! On Sendak! On Tolkien and Dahl! On Cleary and Blume, hear the library's call!
So she slides back to bed with a smile and a yawn. Will Santa actually come? Well, that waits for dawn.
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