A/N This poem was (is) a gift for brenna-louise. I wanted to do something to show my appreciation for all her support and for her lovely paintings to accompany my stories. I sent it to her privately first, but she was (is) kind enough to want to share it. So here it is, with apologies to Dr. Seuss and Lord Fellowes.

ETA: And thank you to my proofreader, chelsie fan, jr., jr., who caught not only my typos BUT ALSO AN EXTRA SYLLABLE! When she was sitting at the computer proofreading, she started tapping her fingers in rhythm. When I asked what she was doing, she answered, "I'm checking your meter." And check she did, and she did a heck of a job at it, too!

How the Butler Stole Christmas

(And How a Child Brought It Back)

Ev'ry servant at Downton loved Christmas a lot,

But the Butler in charge at the Abbey did not.

Ev'ry year he would work himself into a chuff;

He'd get grunty and grumbly and grumpy and gruff.

He would bellow and bluster; he'd holler and huff.

He would bristle and broil; he'd prickle and puff.

And the staff tried so hard, but it wasn't enough.

All the trimmings and trappings were not up to snuff.

"Now, the wreath is hung crooked; the tree is too tall,

All the bows the wrong color, the garland too small.

And those trinkets are tarnished. That candle might fall!

There should never be sap on the clock in the hall!

And just how did this scratch come to be on the wall?

We cannot have it looking this way for the ball!

You intend to serve pheasant for dinner? The gall!

No, we cannot have that! That will not do at all!"

The poor footmen would tremble, the housemaids would weep,

And the hall boys would go for a week without sleep.

When the cook and the housekeeper tried to step in,

The old Butler ignored them – just stuck out his chin.

So the madness went on, growing worse by the day,

'Til the whole staff just tried to stay out of his way.

On the night before Christmas, things came to a head.

He abruptly dismissed them and sent them to bed.

"I must do it myself," he said, later that night.

"That's the only way I can be sure it's done right."

So he locked up his pantry and started his rounds,

To check over the Abbey: the house and the grounds.

First he opened the front door and swept off the stoop,

And he straightened the bough that had started to droop.

Then he came back inside and inspected the tree;

He found two dozen ornaments hanging agee!

The nativity figures were all strewn about,

And a plateful of biscuits was left sitting out!

Also, sitting atop a fine doily of silk

Was a fine crystal wine goblet – filled with warm milk!

Next he shined up the candlesticks, polished an urn,

Neatly lined up the books on the shelf, each in turn.

And he plumped up the cushions, and when he was done,

Then he dusted the baubles and bits one by one.

When at last he surveyed the great, cavernous space,

And felt satisfied ev'rything now was in place,

From the doorway he heard a small whimpering sound

And was taken aback when he swiveled around.

For right there at the door, looking down at the floor,

Stood Miss Sybbie-Lou-Who, who was not more than four.

And the poor little dear stood there frozen in fear

As she sniffled and snuffled and brushed off a tear.

"Mr. Carson, you can't take the biscuits away!

Father Christmas must eat them! We left a whole tray!

And his reindeer need carrots and water and hay

'Cause they need to be strong to fly off with his sleigh.

And the ornaments George and I hung were just right.

They were where we could see them – at just the right height!

So then, why did you take them and move them so high?

Now, if Georgie can't reach them, he'll fuss, and he'll cry.

And you mustn't disturb the nativity set,

Because Goldie and I aren't done with it yet.

See, the baby should be with his mum, 'cause he's cold.

He feels warmer with her, and she's got a strong hold.

Tell me, why are you ruining all that we've done?

When you make things too tidy, we can't have much fun."

And at seeing the poor little lass so distraught,

The old Butler's heart broke for the pain that he'd brought.

So he scooped up the girl in his arms, held her tight.

Then together they set about making things right.

First, he carried her over to fix up the tree,

And they moved all the ornaments so they would be

Where the children could reach them and easily see,

Crowded all near the base, 'bout as high as his knee.

After that, they moved on, took the babe from the hay,

Put him back with his mum. (He'd be warmer that way.)

And at last the old Butler and sweet little lass

Took the plateful of biscuits, the milk in the glass,

Set them out on the mantel, all neat on the shelf,

To be found later on by the Jolly Old Elf.

Then he set the girl down, gave a pat to her head.

She was happier now, and he sent her to bed.

And the old Butler's heart grew three sizes that night.

"Perhaps Christmas means more than just getting things 'right.'

Maybe Christmas means leaving things 'wrong' now and then,

If those 'wrong' things bring happiness now and again.

The important thing isn't to have things just so,

But to make others happy," he thought. "Now I know!

And I'll never forget for as long as I live

The great joy that I get from the joy that I give."