Twas the night before Sunday 'n one thing's for certain,
Not a paper was printing not even the bulletin.
The lessons were written on the hard drive with care,
in hopes that the printin' soon would be there.
When up from the printer there arose such a clatter,
I sprung from my chair to see what was the matter.
With a groan a mumble and a click, click, click,
I knew in a moment the paper did stick.
More rapid than eagles his curses they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called it a name!
Now Crasher! now, Slasher now, Crusher and Crammer!
On, Crummy! On, Stupid! on, Dummy and Jammer!
From the top of my lungs! I began to squall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the UPS store the pastor he flew,
With the thumb drive full of docs, and handouts too.
And then, with a squinting, I saw on the door
The sign on the front said they were open no more.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the road to Gabe's house I went with a bound.
He laughed in my face, from his head to his foot,
As my clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of papers I needed in fact,
bound and bundled in a neat little stack.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the trays, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his paper the green light it glows,
And giving a click, it came out in rows!
He sprang to his tray, as his printer gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
And I heard him exclaim, ‘ere I drove out of sight,"
Happy Sunday to all, and to all a good-night!"