’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the place,
Not a cursor was blinking, not one loading face.
The phone lay forgotten, the chats all on mute,
Even Wi-Fi was resting — a seasonal truce.
The moon through the window shone soft on the floor,
As dreams of warm cocoa drifted in once more.
A knock — not a ping — and a laugh full of cheer,
Log off for tonight,” whispered Christmas, “I’m here.
tawero4ik