Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the town
Schaffhausen was sleeping, not a tick of a sound
The last of the watches had shipped just that day,
Flown over the Rhine to meet Santa’s sleigh.
The elves that had made them with magical skill,
Exclaimed “time from the bench now will be our great thrill”
Hunched over a holder, one eye in a loupe
A kink in the neck, the walk with a stoop
“If these people could know what it’s like to breathe life
Into gears, springs and bridges with driver and knife,
they’d give us a break, they’d throw us a bone,
they’d collect antique Hummels and let us go home!”
But the collectors were nestled in their forums that night,
While old Kern headed out thinking “what a fine sight”.
And Klaus, with his Whippets, taking sips of his Nog,
Sketched out new arrangements of pinions and cogs.
Friedberg and Linz with wise watchful eyes,
Would spin out a contest and mail out a prize,
The winners would pound out a post of such glee,
That the servers would shutter till their circuits broke free.
All over the world, lo spanning the globe
Dreams and desires set their owners aglow
Perhaps a Tourbillon, a Repeater, or less
What would matter the most was the hope for the best.
“On Pilot, on Doppel, St. Exy and Mark,
No dashing those dreams away, this night so dark".
“Now Cousteau, Da Vinci, now Spitfire so bright,
Fly straightway winding through this time we call night".
The Portuguese, dressed all in fur to their feet,
hit the nail on the head when their feet hit the street.
Take the watch from the pocket and put it on wrist,
give it light that will long from now surely persist.
In the end one could hear them as they sailed out of sight,
“Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!”