By David Gewirtz
With truly our sincerest apologies to Clement Clarke Moore, and/or Henry Livingston, Jr., we present more well-intentioned, bad poetry:
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a PC was stirring, nor even a mouse.
The servers were wired to the rack with great care,
In hopes Web site visitors soon would be there.
The techies were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Web cookies danced in their heads.
And ma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Hibernated our laptops for a long winter's nap.
When on the iPhone there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the Windows I flew like Flash,
Booted up my browser and avoided IE6 like a rash.
The cores of the CPU in our fresh new install
Gave extra cycles to our processes, one and all.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature tablet, and awesome headgear.
Now Computing Unplugged, Now OutlookPower
Now Connected Photographer and DominoPower,
To the top of the site! To the Facebook wall!
Now dash away! Tweet away! More IT dashboards all!
And then, in a twinkling, I saw on the site
The whirring and spinning of each little byte.
"Merry Christmas to all
Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, too!
And to all our online brethren,
Have the very best 2011!"