‘Twas the night before Christmas at the rue de Fleurus,
Alice was in the kitchen preparing her mousse.
I sat writing away at my desk being witty
Penning word after word of this holiday ditty.
We’d been shopping in Paris all day long with the horde(s)
Basket One was in tow, he just never seemed bored.
All the streets were aglow in the City of Light,
Festive, painted by number, each section just right.
Yes, we’re Jewish, Oy vey, but a fête is a fête,
We enjoy buying gifts for our friends and our pet!
We have gifts for ourselves too, usually small I admit,
I must buy them or write them, only Alice can knit.
“Oh,” you may say, where is the Steinese
In this rhyme you are jotting,? Here it is, if you please:
“Gift, a gift I give a table, chair. Be right see me, the sky.
For now be he and I will be she. Three. Not now, sing, fly.”
Ok, there, now you have it, so back to this rhyme,
All the stockings were hung by the stove in due time.
“Lovey, taste this ,“ said Alice, a big ladle in hand,
“Is it right? Is it bitter or the best in the land?”
“Pussy, oh Pussy, it’s so smooth, so divine,
Even St. Nick would love it and declare it sublime!”
So Joyeux Noël all with pure joy and no malice
And a splendid ’11 from your GertrudeandAlice!
