Twas the night before Christmas and despite fundraising yelps, not a gift was stirring – not even one via CanadaHelps.
The direct mail was posted with live postage and care, in hope there were still donors writing cheques here and there.
The children were snuggled all nestled in beds, while visions of social enterprise chocolate danced in their heads.
And mamma with Imagine Canada Guide to Giving and household accounts,
Had just settled down for some last minute charitable gift amounts.
When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what the raccoons had scattered.
Away to the window, I flew like a flash, tore open the Habitat ReStore shutters and threw open the sash.
The moon should have fallen on the breast on new fallen snow, but, as WWF correctly predicted, instead, there was green grass to mow.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh with eight tiny reindeer.
With a PETA protester just behind so lively and quick,I knew in a moment, the SPCA was coming for St Nick.
More rapid than eagles, his charity coursers they came. And he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
Now NonProfit Quarterly! Now CAGP! Now APRA & Chronicle of Philanthropy! On CompassPoint! On Board Source! On AFP and Guardian Voluntary!
To the top of the goal! To the highest call! Jan Masaoka says to “follow the strategic plan one and all!”
As staff five minutes before a special event wildly fly, With no time to hide boxes before doors open wide.
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew with a sleigh of charity toys and #YorkdaleFashionSanta too.
Then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head & was turning around to go, down the chimney Charity Claus came with a bound, dressed in Goodwill clothing from head to toe.
His clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot, a bundle of 10, 000 Villages toys flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler opening his pack.
His eyes how they twinkled, thanks to CNIB, so merry, his cheeks were like roses, his nose a fair trade cherry.
His droll little mouth drawn up in a bow, the beard of his chin was as white as snow but Canadian Cancer saw him pipe-free though full of ho ho ho.
With no smoke to encircle his head like a wreath, tThe kids could sleep safely upstairs with no fire safety worries beneath.
He had a broad little face and a little round belly and the Heart and Stroke diet helped keep him healthy.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf. And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, led me to know I had nothing to dread.
Charity Claus filled the stockings with gifts plus Volunteer Canada helpers, then turned with a jerk and laying his finger aside his nose, he nodded his head and up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a Canadian Opera whistle. And away they all flew like the down of a Nature Conservancy thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Next year, no reindeer, I’ll use SpaceX rockets instead for my flight.”