Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the state;
The snow was softly falling, skiers couldn’t wait.
The chairlifts were hanging by the slopes with care;
In hopes that the lift-ops soon would be there.
The skiers were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of powder-shots danced in their heads.
When out on the hill there arose such a clatter;
They sprang from their beds to see what was the matter.
Away to the lodge they flew like a flash;
Put on their ski hats and grabbed their goggle sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow;
Gave the luster of mid-day to moguls below.
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear;
But a miniature gondola, and eight sets of ski gear.
With a little round rider, so lively and quick;
They knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid thaneagles his powder turns came;
And he whistled, and shouted, and called resorts by name.
To the top of the mountain! To the top of the run!
Skiing and riding in Colorado is fun!”
And they heard him exclaim, ere he skied out of sight,
Happy holidays to all, and to all a good-night!