Christmas Caching Poem

My take on a classic Christmas poem, enjoy…

T'was the night before Christmas when all through the house,
There came not a sound save for the clicks of a mouse.
The GPS batteries were charged, and a bag packed with care,
For tomorrow I complete my calender, with a multi in Ware.

The minicachers were nestled, all snug in their beds ,
while visions of gleaming geocoins, danced through their heads.
As Wifey submitted logs, iPad propped on her lap,
I closed GSAK, and turned to the map.

When at once from my phone, there arose such a clatter,
Startling both cat and dog, eliciting a yelp from the latter.
I averted my eyes, all confidence diminished,
As I sheepishly told wifey, of the cache just now published.

Her cold icy stare did finally soften though,
and rolling her eyes she said with a sigh, "just go".
Away to the car in a blink of an eye,
Slippered and gowned, grabbing GPS as I ran by.

The roads were deserted, lined with fresh fallen snow,
That crunched under my slippers as into the woods I did go.
50 feet from GZ and to my eyes what should appear,
but a miniature sleigh and 8 tiny rein deer.

With a laughing driver so quick not a moment to pause,
It could only be that FTF hound by the name geoclaus.
More rapid than mountain bikes his courses they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name.

"Now, Garmin! now, Oregan! Now, Magellan! Now, Dakota!
On, etrex! On, eXplorist! On, Smartphone! On, Montana!
Glide on the virgin snow, between the trees so tall,
Now cache away, cache away, we must beat them all."

He winked as he passed, a single goal on his mind,
I could only sstare gormless as he raced to my find.
I broke from my trance and sprinted in chase,
My dressing gown flapping all over the place.

As I burst through the trees panting and slick,
My fears clearly realised, I felt suddenly sick.
There stood the fat fellow, smiling, triumphant and grand,
With a pristine new log book held tightly in hand.

He was dressed all in gortex from head to his foot,
Shiny FTF badges on his body he had put.
A full bag of Swag he took down off his back,
and I drooled at the trackables I glimpsed in that pack.

His bearded face looked merry,
His cold nose like a cherry.
As he lifted his gaze to me, I saw nothing but red,
thanks to the Million candle torch strapped to his head.

I dropped to my knees, watching him work,
I should have called joint FTF, man what a berk.
His gloved hand steady, he signed the log in bold print,
The swag he dropped in, oh how it did twinkle and glint.

And then in a moment his triumph complete,
He whistled for the reindeer whilst I struggled to my feet.
As he took to the sky grinning, he called out this rhyme,
"Merry Christmas fellow cacher, and better luck next time!"
Copyright Paul Weston

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