’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the RING
Not a CREATED was stirring, not even 343;
The stockings were PLACED by the PHANTOM with care
In hopes that THE GREAT JOURNEY would SOON be there;
The GRUNTS were ASLEEP all DOWN THE HALL,
While visions of METHANE TANKS danced in their SKULLS;
When out IN the THE MAW there arose such a clatter,
THE COVENANT sprang from THIER SLUMBERS to see what was the matter.
HE RAN LIKE A FLASH ESCAPING WITH SPEED.
His ARMOR HOW IT twinkled! his WEAPON SO CLEAN!
THEY KNEW IN A MOMENT IT MUST BE MASTER CHEIF
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon LET THEM KNOW THEY HAD ALL TO dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight UP TO SPACE,
THE LONGSWORD ESCAPED
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
