A Visit From St. COVID-19

With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore

Denise Shelton
2 min readDec 18, 2021
Photo by Rod Long on Unsplash

Author’s note: I wrote this last year and had expected it would be irrelevant by now. I hope it makes you smile anyway.

’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the land
The people had had all the grief they could stand;
The stockings were empty for what was the use?
The wishing and hoping were worse than abuse;
The children were nestled apart from their grands,
Fearful us old folks would die at their hands;
I put on my flannels and donned my c-pap,
Trusting I’d wake from my long winter’s nap.

When out in the street there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
I threw on my mask, through the blinds took a peek,
(I hadn’t been out of the house in a week).
The climate had changed, so the snow wasn’t there,
(Okay, we’re in Florida, just to be fair)
But what did I see that caused me to stare?
It wasn’t a sleigh, there were no reindeer there.

Instead, a sleek van pulled alongside our house,
I shouted upstairs to awaken my spouse.
My spouse then descended and opened the door,
It was all we could do not to fall to the floor,
In place of St. Nick, that right jolly old elf,
Was there, in the flesh, Doctor Fauci himself!
“Roll up your sleeves, I’ve a schedule to meet,”
We were tempted to fall in a heap at his feet.

A medical bag he bore, not a sack,
He held a syringe, as sharp as a tack,
His droll little mouth grinned as wide as you please,
And his accented English was pure Brooklynese.
“This shouldn’t hurt,” he exclaimed with a smile,
“But, if it does, it won’t last but a while.”
We offered our arms and he went straight to work,
He gave us both shots; then turned with a jerk.