'Twas the night before Christmas, and all feeling giddy,
Not a building was tumbling from the wreckers of our city;
The buildings were saved, 'cause Trojans do care,
And hope politicians will likewise be fair!

Trojans are struggling and scratching their heads,
Shaking visions of drug stores, malls, and such dread;
Parking lots! More parking lots? Enough of this crap!
This nonsense won't put Troy back onto the map!

Out on the street you can hear all the chatter,
Make Troy great again, that's really what matters.
Clean up the streets and get rid of the trash,
Promote our history! It will bring in some cash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gives luster to the historic facades below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a bus load of tourists with their walking gear.

With a little old driver carrying bricks and some ham,
I knew in a moment it was dear Uncle Sam.
More rapid than eagles his tourists they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, our history by name;

"Now, BURDEN! now, CLUETT! now, WILLARD and MENEELY!
On EATON! On GURLEY! On GARNET and MULLANY!
To the top of Mount Ida down to Harmony Hall,
Spend cash today! Cash today! Spend Cash today all!

Like mushrooms that spring from a fresh morning rain,
Sam's tourists spread quick through this city of fame;
And up to the cash registers, the tourists they flew,
Spending in Troy like they once use to do!

And then, in a twinkling, I knew there was proof,
Promoting our history was not being aloof!
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Another good tourist appears with a bound.

He was dressed in (fake) fur, from his foot to his head,
And his clothes were all tarnished with gravy soaked bread;
A bundle of items he had flung on his back,
From spending his money like the rest in his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
He shouted with glee at the bargains he carried.
Sure it was cold, but it wasn't a mystery,
that he loved spending money in buildings with history.

But then he stood still and gritted his teeth,
He saw boarded up buildings on top and beneath;
His large broad face and round little belly,
shook, when he cried, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was angry and hurt, not his jolly old self,
Cause his buildings of youth, gone, in spite of himself;
But 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 sound, but knew of his task,
To spread the word that our future is our past.
And so he called Sam to gather the troops,
And giving a nod, rounded up the group.

Back to the bus, his crew gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard Sam exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, TROY'S FUTURE IS BRIGHT!

(Apologies to Clement Moore, the author of the original poem of the same name, and to The Troy Sentinel which published it for the first time in America on December 23, 1823.)