’Twas the eve before Christmas when out in the woods,
The Tomte was loading the Yule Goat with goods.
As he packed gifts for the children on the neighboring farms,
A sudden tromping and snorting filled him with alarm.
He shoved up his hat, seeking the source of the sound,
And his beard stood on end at the sight that he found!
A beautiful sleigh had drifted far from its course,
Pulled by a Norwegian Fjord and a Red Dala Horse.
He turned to the Yule Goat. “You’re relieved of your job!
These horses are strong. Ja, both good, steady cobs.
We’ll ride in the sledge to deliver the presents.
It will take half of the time. Now won’t that be pleasant?”
The Tomte unloaded the goat, and they hopped in the sleigh.
With a flick of the reins, they were off and away!
But the surge of the horses tipped the gifts off the back,
And the Tomte lost his seat and his grip on the tack.
The children eventually received all their gifts,
Though hardly because the Tomte caught a lift.
Nej, the disaster that followed cured the Tomte of ambition,
And now he and the Yule Goat stick to tradition.
On the night before Christmas, they stealth to the farms,
Deliver the gifts, and enjoy their due charms—
Porridge with butter, left out just for them—
And they stay far from all horses and ensuing mayhem.