Breaking out ‘Twas the Night Before Senna-mas from a couple years ago.
‘Twas the night before Sennamas, when all through the track
Not an auto was stirring, not even a Rimac;
The tires were stacked by the paddock with care,
In hopes that St. Senna soon would be there;
The drivers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of podiums danced in their heads;
And mechanics in their paddocks, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,
When out in the pit there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the trailer to see what was the matter.
Away to the wall I flew like a flash,
Peered through the darkness to find who’d be so brash
The moon on the breast of the track freshly paved
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the track to be braved,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But an MP4/6, doing burnouts so near,
With an old yellow helmet, beneath the antenna,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Senna.
More rapid than eagles his courser he came,
The car revved, and it screeched, as if in a game;
The car hummed and roared, and rumbled and growled,
It revved and snarled, and it purred and it howled
Through the start it did roared, then past the first turn there afar!
Out of site he went fast, all that was left was the sound of his car.
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When he met with an gap, was just a matter of try,
So ‘round the chicane with the courser he flew,
With the car full of power, and St. Senna there too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard ‘round the bed
The prancing and pawing of his mighty sled.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
From the last corner St. Senna came with a bound.
He never let off the gas, never lifted his foot,
And his helmet was glistening with shiny output;
He roared past the finish then screeched to a stop,
And hopped out the car and to the podium top.
His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a lyre,
And the hair on his head as black as a tire;
The helmet he held beneath his right arm,
And the wreath ‘round his necked added to his charm;
He had a slender face and a strong jaw,
That aimed right at me as I stared there in awe.
He was slender and lean, a right jolly pilot,
And I smiled when I saw him, as if his best zealot;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And placed all the trophies; then turned with a jerk,
And lept into his car as it roared back alive,
And giving a nod, out to the track he did drive;
Smoke poured from his tires as they squealed and galloped,
And behind all the smoke all the noise ended abrupt
He spoke as the smoke revealed nothing in sight,
HAPPY SENNAMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!
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