An Australian Christmas PoemOn Australian Christmas, at night in our house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The weapons were stockpiled, the hearth was not bare, In hopes that Old. Nick would not come to be there,The children were curled up awake in their beds, While regrets of their misdeeds ran through their small heads; And mamma at her sister's, and I in on the couch, Had just settled down for the Christmas eve watch, When up in the bedroom arose such a clatter, I sprang from the couch and grabbed a revolver.Away to the staircase I flew in a tizzy, My mind thinking thoughts th