St. Nicholas Eve

rooms are cleaned

boys to bed 

shoes put by with 

straw and apple 

 breathless anticipation

 for St Nicholas to come this way

 deep hope Black Peter 

 leaves you alone

sleep little ones

wake to find

chocolate or coins

or worse the stick

 hoot holler

 make some noise 

Black Peter passed you by

safe another year

Piccola 

By Celia Laighton Thaxter

Poor, sweet Piccola! Did you hear 

What happened to Piccola, children dear? 

'Tis seldom Fortune such favor grants 

As fell to this little maid of France.

'Twas Christmas time, and her parents poor 

Could hardly drive the wolf from the door, 

Striving with poverty's patient pain 

Only to live till summer again.

No gifts for Piccola! Sad were they 

When dawned the morning of Christmas Day! 

Their little darling no joy might stir; 

St. Nicholas nothing would bring to her!

But Piccola never doubted at all 

That something beautiful must befall 

Every child upon Christmas Day, 

And so she slept till the dawn was gray.

And, full of faith, when at last she woke, 

She stole to her shoe as the morning broke; 

Such sounds of gladness filled all the air, 

'Twas plain St. Nicholas had been there.

In rushed Piccola sweet, half wild— 

Never was seen such a joyful child— 

"See what the good saint brought!" she cried, 

And mother and father must peep inside.

Now such a story I never heard! 

There was a little shivering bird!

A sparrow, that in at the window flew, 

Had crept into Piccola's tiny shoe!

"How good Piccola must have been!" 

She cried as happy as any queen, 

While the starving sparrow she fed and warmed, 

And danced with rapture, she was so charmed.

Children, this story I tell to you 

Of Piccola sweet and her bird, is true. 

In the far-off land of France, they say, 

Still do they live to this very day.

Peace and Love--