'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the flat,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a cat.
A man lay alone, with no cheer to be found,
His grumpy facade, in loneliness bound.
The stockings weren’t hung, the tree was not lit,
For Edward's sour mood cared not a bit.
While others found joy in the holiday's embrace,
He found naught but the silence of his cold, empty space.
When out of the gloom, there arose such a sight,
A vision of red, with hair flaming bright.
In a mirror, he gazed, disbelief in his stare,
For a woman looked back, with a radiant flare.
Not old, but a lass, in her thirties so fair,
With emerald eyes and auburn red hair.
Dressed in Mrs. Claus’s festive attire,
But with youth on her side, she sparked an inner fire.
Her velvet dress hugged her new form just right,
A figure now graced with curves soft and light.
With a whisper of silk and a touch of snow’s lace,
She found in her heart, a quickening pace.
The jolly old man, with a beard white as cream,
Stepped into the room, like a sweet Christmas dream.
"Ah, Merry," he boomed, with a voice deep and wise,
"You're here to bring joy, to open closed eyes."
"For your heart," he continued, "so pure yet so sad,
Has been gifted new life, to make Christmas glad.
You're Ms. Claus now, not just a name,
But a title of hope, with no two the same."
Though startled and shocked, she felt warmth in the frost,
A father in Santa, her loneliness lost.
"Ms. Claus," she thought, with a burgeoning smile,
"I'll give this my all, go the extra mile."
In velvet so red, with trim of pure snow,
Stood Merry so bright, with a radiant glow.
Her form was transformed, from manly and broad,
To curves like the waves, that gracefully laud.
Her bosom was ample, like hills topped with white,
Beneath the red velvet, a breathtaking sight.
Her waist, it was cinched, like a delicate vine,
That twists and that turns, in a pattern so fine.
Her rear, oh so shapely, like sculptures of old,
A sight to behold, so bold and so bold.
Her legs, they were clad, in stockings of silk,
As smooth as the cream, as white as the milk.
Her hair, a fierce auburn, fell in curls so free,
Framing her face, in wild jubilee.
Her cheeks, they were rosy, like apples in bloom,
Bringing life to the room, dispelling the gloom.
Her eyes, emerald bright, sparkled with cheer,
Shining with warmth, and Christmas so near.
Her lips, painted red, a bow perfect and neat,
Smiling at all, in her festive retreat.
So there stood Ms. Merry, in the North's icy land,
A figure of joy, so lively and grand.
With a heart once so closed, now open and kind,
In her stunning new form, a new life to find.
As the North Pole's new light, she worked with delight,
Wrapping presents, spreading cheer, from morning till night.
Her laugh now a chime that rang clear and true,
A sound of pure joy that through the workshop flew.
On the eve of the feast, she stood ready to fly,
With a heart now unfettered, beneath the vast sky.
Old Edward was gone, in his place, someone merry,
On a sleigh ride through stars, as the new Ms. Merry.
And I heard her exclaim, as she drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, may your hearts find the light!"
Her journey began, in the night sky so bold,
A tale of rebirth, and a heart once so cold.