‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the land,
Not a windmill was spinning, not even on sand.
The panels lay silent, their surfaces bare,
For snow had descended, blocking sun from the air.

The children were nestled, snug in their beds,
While visions of blackouts danced in their heads.
And Ma with her blanket, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.

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

The moon on the snow, like carbon-free glow,
Lit up the grid, whose costs only grow.
When what to my skeptical eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and spry,
I knew in a moment, it must be St. Nye.
More rapid than models his minions they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

“Now Windy! Now Solar! Now Carbon-Free Mike!
On Greta! On Gore! On Policy Spike!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Net Zero for all, and to all a tax haul!”

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with a windmill, they soar to the sky.
So up to the housetop the coursers they blew,
With a sleigh full of mandates, and St. Nye too.

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Nye came with a bound.

He was dressed all in green, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of carbon credits he had on his back,
And he looked like a lobbyist opening his pack.

His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
He spoke of emissions, of doom and despair,
With a preachy tone that hung in the air.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Green policies for all, and to all a cold night!”

So readers, take heart, keep questioning well,
For the facts will endure, though they often don’t sell.
Merry Christmas to all, and may wisdom take flight,
In the glow of good science, we’ll find our true light.

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