T'was the night before Christmas and all through the house one creature was stirring, and it wasn't a mouse.
A blond headed Russian walked out his front door, loaded with a sackful of presents galore.
He hailed a cab..."227 Bowery," he said, and the yellow checkered taxi-cab would became his sled.
Illya walked through the bright red Mission door, and scattered his loaded bag across the floor.
It was brimming with toys and new winter coats, gloves, and sweaters, what people needed the most.
His friend Claire smiled warmly as he donned his apron so tight, to dole out the food, to feed the poor and help brighten their mood.
When the day was done, they'd washed, cleaned, and sat for a rest. Claire looked at Illya thinking, he was the best.
"If I were twenty years younger, "she always would say, and the Russian would blush shyly that day.
"Thank you my friend," he'd say with a kiss. "To help you along is my only wish."
And he'd leave embarassed through the kitchen and make such a clatter, Claire'd come out to see what was the matter.
He'd laugh at his clumsiness, and clean up again, and wave good bye to his charming old friend.
The lights of the city seemed brighter that night, and a once cold young Russian was filled with delight.
He stood at the steps of his apartment as the the snow fell down, looking around this busy town.
And upwared he whispered towards the sky, word he'd not said for a very long time.
"Peace on earth and goodwill to all men, and to all a good night.
* please forgive me if the poetry is not perfect, but I think the sentiment is just right.