'Twas the Night Before Christmas on Hawkworld

Tim Board writes,

Merry Christmas, everybody. Just fooling around but here's my version of "Twas the Night before Christmas"

"'Twas the Night Before Christmas (Hawkman Version)"
By Clement Clarke Moore / Tim Board (Hawkworld Admin)

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Thanagarian Snare Mouse;
The Funko Pop figures lined up on the mantle with care,
In hopes that Hawkman soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Nth metal danced in their heads;
And mamma in her gown, and I in my Hawkman logo cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap

'Twas the Night Before Christmas on Hawkworld

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I flew from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like The Flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the fresh-fallen snow
Gave the luster of Thanagar to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a superhero, with wings and a spear

With muscles rippling, so manly and all,
I knew in a moment it must be Carter Hall.
More rapid than lighting, the villains he did maim,
And he bellowed, and yelled, and called them by name;

"Now, Hath-Set! Now, Shadow Thief! Now, Lion-Mane and Byth!
Down, Gentleman Ghost! Down Fadeaway Man! Down, Hyathis!
Dare to challenge me! You've got the gall!
Now run away! Run away! Run away all!"

As feathers that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So away from our hero the villains they flew,
With bruises and blows, and wounded pride too.

And then, with a fluttering, I heard on the ground
The heavy boots of the Warrior pound.
As I drew in my hand and was turning around,
Crashing through the window Hawkman came in with a bound.

He was dressed all in green pants, but only a harness up top,
And his weapons were all tarnished with blood and whatnot;
Huge, massive wings he had strapped on his back,
And he looked like an archangel with demons to thwack.

His eyes — how they shone! His helmet how sleek!
His cheeks were unshaven, his nose like a beak!
His hard, stern mouth was drawn up in a grimace,
And the hair on his chest was as black as the furnace;

His Nth-metal mace he never let down,
And the helmet around his head like a crown;
He had a broad face and a tight hard belly,
That clenched and flexed, when he walked so steady.

He was massive and muscular, a Justice League warrior,
And I trembled when I saw him, in spite of my wonder;
A stare of his eyes and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to believe I had everything to dread;

He spoke not a word, but came to me like a bolt,
And shook my hand; then turned with a jolt,
And spreading his wings all gray and blue,
And giving a nod, out the window he flew;

He sprang to the sky, to his enemies he gave a shout,
And away they all flew like Man-hawks with a pout.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight,

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Rich JohnstonAbout Rich Johnston

Founder of Bleeding Cool. The longest-serving digital news reporter in the world, since 1992. Author of The Flying Friar, Holed Up, The Avengefuls, Doctor Who: Room With A Deja Vu, The Many Murders Of Miss Cranbourne, Chase Variant. Lives in South-West London, works from Blacks on Dean Street, shops at Piranha Comics. Father of two. Political cartoonist.
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