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'Twas the night before Craftmas, when all through the bunker,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Marauder.
The stockings were hung by the barracks with care,
In hopes that T. Findlay soon would be there.

The Marines were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of zerg guts danced in their heads.
And Sara in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a pre-battle nap.

When out on the ramp there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my rack to see what was the matter.
Away to the porthole I flew like a flash,
Tore open the armory and opened the cache.

Three moons on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the Siege Tanks below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a low-flying ship, whose hull stood out clear.

With a humongous driver, with great reflex (seemed like),
And I knew in a moment it must be old Tych.
More rapid than banshees his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Fenix! my Praetor! High Templar, Artanis!
On Raszagul, Zeratul, Judicator Aldaris!
To the top of the Starport! O'er the main base's wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry bodies before Archons' Maelstrom fly
When they meet with a wall-in, mount to the sky
So up to the Starport the coursers they flew,
With the ship full of guns, and Tych Findlay too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The sound of a build order that was bronze-proof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney now Findlay came with a bound.

He was dressed all in metal, from his head to his foot,
And his armor was war-torn, with ashes and soot.
A bundle of weapons he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a reaper, putting on his jet pack.

His eyes, how they burned! His scars so scary!
His teeth were like fangs, his eyebrows so glarey!
His droll little mouth curled down and quite low,
And his clean-shaven chin gnashed his teeth with a show.

The stumpy cigar he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his helm like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a likely tight belly,
And the blood as he laughed, dripped down like jelly!

He was large and grotesque, quite unlike an elf,
And I cried when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Proved to me that I had something to dread.

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
He ripped down the stockings and tree, what a jerk!
And laying his finger to one side of his nose,
He inhales so deep and snot he then blows!

He sprang to his ship, to his 'Toss gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like a firebat-charred thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he left me in shame,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good game!"

- Written for the love of the game by Jake, AKA - Kenjiro Yume or ReignStoRm

This is literally the greatest thing I have ever had the pleasure to read. Well done.

I did show it here first. Just because no one logged in and saw it here first doesn't mean you weren't able to...