‘Twas the night before Christmas
(with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)
When all through the bakery
No flour was whirring, no piece of machinery.
The Gingerbread stars, hung up by the pair
Were dreaming of yeast that was bubbling air;
The doughs were all pestled all snug in their bowls
While slices of stollen danced with the bread rolls
And workers in baker’s hats, aprons and pinnies
Slept over their pans all greased up and tinny.
When out in Euphorium arose such a clatter
The customers shopping with plenty of chatter
Away to the counter stood waiters most dashing
Serving puds and minced pies, their hands all a flashing.
The almonds all covered with new-fallen icing
Gave the lustre of sweetness to biscuits enticing
When, what to my wandering eyes should appear
A flaming brandy pudding full of festival cheer.
With a pristine glass jar so sharp and precise
Full up with magic and sugar and spice
The gingerbread mix and its beautiful cutter
Ready for eggs and new creamy butter.
Now customer, now passion, now fresh, now eaten
On minced pie, on Christmas cake, on biscuit, eggs beaten
To top of the counter, to over the till
Now dash away, dash away, eat up your fill.