The aircraft were fastened, To tiedowns with care,

In hopes that come morning, They all would be there.

The air wing was nestled, All snug in their racks,

The flight deck was closed, 60 knots at our backs.

So I slumped over my desk in Flight Deck Control,

And settled down comfortably, hearing nary a soul.

When the radio lit up, With noise and chatter,

I turned up the scanner, To see what was the matter.

A voice clearly heard, Over static and snow,

Called for clearance to land, with a green deck or no.

He barked his transmission, So lively and quick,

Couldn’t hear him too well, But think his call sign was “St.Nick”.

I called up to Pri-Fly, To turn up the lights,

The better to welcome, This magical flight.

The radio then squawked, and I heard his faint call,

“St. Nicholas One, Santa’s callin’ the ball!”

And then to my wondering eyes, There did suddenly appear,

A Lockheed-built sleigh, With eight G.E. Reindeer!

With vectors to final, Down the glide slope he came,

As he cheered on his engines, He called them by name.

Now Buda! Now Growler! Now Yukon and Slash!

On Monkey-Butt! On Connie! ” I hope they don’t crash.

While FDCs were sittin’, And scratchin’ their head,

The Boss phoned my office, And I heard it with dread.

The message he left, Was both urgent and dour:

“When Santa’s tied down, tell him Merry Christmas from the tower.”

He landed like silk, though the tailhook was sparkin’,

I thought to myself, where the hell do I park him?

He raised up his hook, and was ready to go,

clearing the landing area, with a “Ho-Ho-Ho…”

He stepped out of the sleigh, But before he talks,

I ran out to meet him, With my best set of chocks.

His red helmet and goggles, Were covered with frost,

And his beard was all blackened, From Reindeer exhaust.

His breath smelled like peppermint, Gone slightly stale,

And he puffed on a pipe, But didn’t inhale.

His cheeks were all rosy, And jiggled like jelly,

His fight boots were as brown, As a cropduster’s belly.

He was chubby and plump, his suit as red as can be,

And he asked me to “fill it, thousand pounds of JP.”

Then he came dashing in, From the snow-covered pump,

I knew he was anxious, For drainin’ the sump.

I spoke not a word, But went straight to my work,

And I filled up the sleigh, But I spilled like a jerk.

He came out of the head, And sighed in relief,

Then he called the weather guessers, For an updated brief.

And I thought as he silently, Scribed in his log,

These reindeer could land, In an eighth-mile fog.

He completed his pre-flight, From the front to the rear,

Then he put on his headset, And I heard him yell, “Clear!”

Then he keyed up his mic, with a voice that just roared,

“Hey Boss, this is Santa, I’ll need a 52 board.”

He taxied up to the bow, and a Cat 1 spot,

he saluted the yellow shirt, he was ready to be shot.

He launched off the cat, The best of the best,

“Your traffic’s an S-3, Inbound from the west”

Then I heard him proclaim, As he climbed thru the night,

“Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight.