‘Twas the prior night Christmas, when all through the net
Not a blogger was blending, not in any case Zeba;
The tights were hung by the stack with care,
With the expectation that Punk Chopsticks soon would be there;
Annie and Marion were settled cozy in their beds,
While dreams of rhyme plans moved in their heads;
Furthermore, Shreya in her ‘bandanna, and Jack in his top,
Had recently settled their web journals for a long winter’s rest,
At the point when out by the portable PC there emerged such a rattle,
Meander sprang from his bed to perceive what was the matter.
Away to the PC he flew like a sprite,
Tore open the program and keyed up the site.
The moon foundation on the bosom of the computerized snow
Gave the gloss of early afternoon to symbols beneath,
At the point when, what to his meandering eyes ought to show up,
In any case, a fresh out of the box new post around eight minor reindeer
With a Chinese-Malaysian typist, so vivacious and brisk,
He knew in a minute it must be Punk Chopsticks.