Happy holograms, geeks!
'twas the night before Clacksmas and all through the site
not a keyswitch was actuating; not even reds, which are light
the bare boards were hung by the chimney with care
in hopes that vintage dyesubs would soon be there
the forumgoers were nestled all snug in their beds
while visions of click-clacks danced in their heads
and mamma in her keyboard roof, and i in my cardboard slats
had just sold our membranes for boards with mx blacks
when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
i sprang from the bed to see what was the matter
away to the window i flew, like a quick fire flash
tore open the shutters and threw up the sash
the retrobrite on ABS which was quite yellow
gave the lustre of butter to the objects below
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear
but a minuature keyboard, and eight brands thereof down there!
with a little old typist, so lively and quick,
i knew in a moment it must be Saint Clack-Click!
more rapid than Wrona's, his keystrokes they came,
and he click-clacked, backspaced, corrected their names!
"now Filco! now, Ducky! now, Cherry and KMAC!
on, Rosewill! on, Leopold! on, on Realforce and WASD!
to the top of the boards! to the top of them all!
now type comfortably! domes go away, mechanical switches for all!"
and then, in a twinkling, i heard on the roof
the bottoming out of each little plastic hoof
as i drew in my head, and was turning around,
down the chimney Saint Clack-Click came with a bound
he was dressed all in cabling, from his head to his foot,
and his caps were all tarnished with solder and soot.
a bundle of keyboards he had flung on his back,
and he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
his shined caps, how they twinkled! his textureless cherries!
his legends were like hasro's, so espensive it's scary!
his droll little layout was missing forty percent, or so,
and the beard of his chin was as odd as SP's bottom row.
the stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
he had a sharp-cornered face and a spherical belly,
that shook when he laughed, like PCB-mount wobblies!
he keyed not a word, but went straight to his work,
doubleshot the naked boards, then turned with a jerk.
and laying his finger aside of his scooped J-shaped nose,
and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!
he sprang to his keyboard, to his OEMs gave a whistle,
and away they all flew like 65 gram missiles
but i heard him type one well-wishing, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Clacksmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
