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PC: Modeler's xmas

Hopefully Santa has some black engines in that bag.



The Microferroequinologist's Night Before Christmas 
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my pike,   Not a
steamer was stirring, not even a Mike. 
My yard tracks invitingly empty and bare,   In hopes that St.
Nicholas soon would be there. 
The diesels were nestled all snug in their sheds,   While visions
of DCC danced in their heads. 
While I, in my blue-and-white engineer's cap,   Had just settled
down for a long winter's nap, 
When down in the train room, there rose such a clatter,   I sprang
from my bed to see what was the matter. 
Away to the basement I flew like an ace,   Tripped over the cat
and fell flat on my face. 
I stifled a curse meant for Chessie (the cat),   And I muttered to
no one, "I meant to do that," 
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,   But an HO-scale
sleigh and eight Preiser reindeer, 
With an engineer driving, so lively and quick,   I knew in a
moment it must be St. Nick. 
More rapid than GG-1's, onward they came,   And he blew a steam
whistle and called them by name: 
"On Athearn! On Lionel, Kato and Walthers!   On Kadee and
Micro-Trains, Atlas and others! 
To the top of the mountains of Hydrocal plaster,   Now dash away,
dash away, dash away faster!" 
As dry leaves that behind a new Genesis fly,   When they meet with
an obstacle, mount to the sky, 
So in through the window the coursers they flew   With the sleigh
full of trains, and St. Nicholas too. 
And then, on my roundhouse, I saw on the roof   The prints in the
dust of each HO-scale hoof. 
As I drew a deep breath, and was turning around,   From beneath
the benchwork, St. Nick came with a bound. 
He was dressed like an engineer from head to foot,   And his
clothes had that fine smell of ashes and soot; 
A bundle of trains he had flung on his back,   And he looked like
a peddler just opening his pack. 
His eyes  just like marker lights! Dimples, how merry!   His
cheeks like a Warbonnet, nose like a cherry! 
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,   And his beard
was so white, it would please Phoebe Snow. 
He puffed on a pipe as he refilled its bowl,   And the smoke, it
smelled just like bituminous coal. 
He had a broad face and a belly (I found)   That shook like a tank
car with wheels out-of-round. 
He was chubby and plump, and I wanted to shout,   "Yes! The man's
got a route the UP can't buy out!" 
A wink of his eye as he passed near the door   Soon gave me to
know I'd have freight cars galore. 
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work.   He filled
all my yard tracks; then turned with a jerk, 
And leaving an airbrush he'd found on eBay,   And giving a nod, he
returned to his sleigh. 
He pumped up the brakes, blew two blasts on his whistle,   And
away they all flew like the down of a thistle. 
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,   "HAPPY

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