T'was the night before Christmas, when all through our abode,
Not a iPad, iPhone nor even and iPod glowed.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
But without any iPads they seemed rather bare.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Angry Birds danced in their heads.
And I lay in my bed, thinking it most cruel;
I surfed The iPhone Blog and started to drool.
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 Renee Ritchie came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, some grey hair was fading-in,
I could immediately tell that he was Canadian.
A bundle of iGadgets he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
He moved quickly - a sprightly old stepper;
And in his beard was a touch of salt and pepper.
He spoke not a word, and againts all odds,
He filled all the stockings with iPads and iPods!
He was upset that an Apple TV was not there,
Then he shrugged and said "well who really cares?"
He sprang to his sleigh with his usual good humour,
Then decided to blog an iPhone 5 rumour.
But I heard him exclaim, ?ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"