Twas the night before PaintingTwas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a basset hound.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that a Pinot’s Palette Gift Card soon would be there.
The adults were nestled all snug with their wine,
While visions of Painting Parties danced in their minds.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our cups for a large pour of cab.
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 flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Pinot’s Palette Artist, and eight tiny reindeer.
A little local artist, so friendly and happy,
I knew it must be one of St Pinot’s.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now, Chardonnay! Now, Cabernet! Now, Riesling and Rose!
On, Pinot Noir! On, Pinot Griot! On, Zinfandel and Sauvignon Blanc!
To the top of the glass! To the top of the glass!
Now drink away! Drink away! Drink away all!"
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Pinot himself came with a bound!
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all splattered with acrylic and soot.
A bundle of Gifts Cards and Canvas he had flung on his back,
And he looked like an artist, just opening his pack.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Painting to all, and to all a good-night!"