'Twas the night before Christmas when all though Family Cakes,
Not a baker was stirring, not even for his mates.
The stockings were hung by the oven with care,
In hopes that Vincenzo soon would be there.
The employees were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of mince pies danced through their head.
When out in the kitchen there rose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
When what should I see that surely wasn't fake,
But a miniature pie and eight tiny cupcakes.
With a little old baker, so lively making flan,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Dan.
More rapid than a factory, muffins he made,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name,
Now RAISIN, now STRAWBERRY, now CARROT and BLUEBERRY,
On CHOCOLATE, on RASPBERRY, on BANANA and CHERRY!
A bundle of ingredients he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight.
"MERRY CAKES-MAS TO ALL! AND TO ALL, A GOOD BITE!"
Merry Christmas from all of us here at Family Cakes
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