Twas the cigar before Christmas

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'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Dublin cigar lovers were smoking, their 
lighters a-bubblin'.
Their stockings were hung by the humidor with care, in hopes that St. Nicotine
soon would be there.
 

The DCE gang were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of double coronas danced in
their heads.
And Guy in his smoking jacket and I in my cap, had just lit our cigars for a warm
winter's lap.
 
When out on the shop roof there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my couch to see what
was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutter, and threw up
the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
gave the lustre of midday to objects below,
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny Cuban reindeer.
 
With a little old driver, so familiar and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nic.
More rapid than eagles, his nicoteam came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

"Now Smokie! Now Monte!
Now, Partagas and Ramon!
On, El Rey! On, Punch!
On, Davidoff  now Blitz 'om!
To the top of the ceiling!
To the height of the wall!
Now smoke  away! Smoke away!
Smoke away all!"

As dry wrapper leaves that before the hurricane fly,
when they meet a non-smoker, swirl to the sky
so up to the shop-top the nicoteam flew,
with the sleigh full of cigars, and St. Nicotine too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
the scratching and lighting by each little hoof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
down the chimney St. Nicotine came with a bound.
 
He was dressed all in tobacco leaves, from his head to his foot,
and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of cigars he had flung on his back,
and he looked like a smoker just opening his pack.
 
His eyes--how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
and the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a cigar he held tight in his teeth,
and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
that shook when he laughed, like an ashtray full of jelly.
 
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly smoking elf,
and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
and filled all the humidors, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
 
He sprang to his sleigh, to his nicoteam gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the smoke of a lit thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all cigar lovers, and to all a good night.”