’Twas the night before toking, and all through the flat,
Not a creature was stirring, not even the cat.
The grinders were set on the table with care,
In hopes that the munchies would soon be there.
The stoners were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of edibles danced in their heads.
With me in my hoodie and vape in my lap,
I’d just settled down for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn 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,
Tripped over my bong and knocked over my stash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave a glow to the smoke trails that wafted below.
When what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
But a sleigh full of goodies and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so jolly and baked,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Dank.
Faster than edibles kicking in, they came,
And he giggled and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now Chronic! Now Sativa! Now Indica too!
On Hybrid! On Hashish! On Bubba and Blue!
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall,
Now puff away! Puff away! Puff away all!”
As dry leaves that before the volcano do fly,
When met with a hit, they rise to the sky.
So up to the rooftop the reindeer they flew,
With a sleigh full of bud, and St. Danky too.
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each tiny hoof.
As I reached for my pipe and was turning around,
Down the chimney, St. Dank came with a bound.
He was dressed all in hemp, from his cap to his shoe,
With a tie-dye shirt in a green, gold, and blue hue.
A bundle of nugs he had slung on his back,
And he looked like a stoner with munchies to pack.
His eyes, how they glowed! His dimples, how thin!
His cheeks were like gummies, his face locked in permagrin.
His dreads framed his face in a loose, easy way,
And he puffed on his joint in a slow, knowing way.
The stump of a joint he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.
His belly was round, and his vibe was pure chill,
The kind of stoned magic that bends time at will.
He was groovy and baked, like a reggae king elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Let me know there is nothing at all here to dread.
He spoke not a word, but got straight to his task,
Filling the grinders and jars in a flash.
And laying a finger aside of his nose,
With a puff and a nod, up the chimney, he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a spark from a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
“Happy toking to all, and to all a good night!”
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