'Twas the night before New Life Day
When all through our house
Not a creature was stirring,
not even a mouse.
Shrouded armor was hung
by the fire place with care,
In hopes that the Listener
soon would be there.
The assassins were nestled
all snug in their beds,
while visions of knives
danced in their heads.
The Night Mother
in her coffin,
and I in my cap
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When outside the sanctuary
there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed,
to see what was the matter.
Out through the secret entrance
I flew like a flash.
Tore open the cover
and ran out in a dash.
The moons on the breast
of the new