A HAM'S CHRISTMAS EVE
 
'Twas the night before Christmas and in the ham shack,
Was the warm glow of tubes in the transmitting rack.
 
The log book was brought up to date with great care,
In case the FCC might some day be there.
 
XYL and Harmonics were snug in their beds,
My strong RF waves safely from their heads.

I plugged in the mike and adjusted the VFO,
Getting all set for a late night QSO.
 
When up from the F layer there arose such a clatter,
I looked to the window to see what was the matter.
 
Then up on the roof by the forty meter beam,
There came QRM like a heterodyne scream.
 
On Icom, on Kenwood, on Yaesu and Ten-Tec,
On Comet, on Collins, on Alinco and Cushcraft.
 
Bias to the grid and volts to the plate,
Just watch the S-Meter while we all modulate.
 
As I turned to the rig and reached for the dial,
From the glowing tuner Santa slid with a smile.
 
An RF choke he held tight in his teeth,
And coax encircling his head like a wreath.
 
A bundle of ham gear hung from his hand,
Was that MY name on a new dual band?
 
He had a snub nose like an egg insulator,
And his cheeks glowed bright red like a hot oscillator.
 
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
Laying out all the gear, then turned with a jerk.
 
And laying a wave meter along side of his nose,
Said, "Please QSL." and up the feeders he 'rose.
 
He climbed up the dipole, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a jet propelled missile.
 
But I heard his last signal from the upper ionosphere,
Seventy Three, Eighty Eight,  Merry Christmas... I'm clear.