‘Twas the night before Christmas, inside hospital walls,

Where the hallways stayed hushed and soft paging calls

Echoed low through the unit, all lights glowing bright,

As families kept vigil through another long night.

No rooftops or reindeer, no hooves in the snow—

Just monitors humming in a steady, slow flow.

The rise and the fall of a small sleeping chest,

A tiny heart working, still giving its best.

When out in the night came a sudden loud roar,

I woke with a start like so many times before.

Not sleigh bells or laughter, not magic in flight—

But a helicopter landing again in the night.

Sirens cried out as they cut through the air,

A sound you can’t stop, but learn how to bear.

Another new patient, another small fight,

Another family pulled into this night.

Machines hummed beside her all through the night,

While love stayed close, a constant in sight.

Her stocking hung from the IV pole near her bed,

Not filled yet with toys—but with hope instead.

And maybe St. Nicholas doesn’t need sleighs,

To find where the bravest hearts wait out their days.

Maybe he walks down a polished white hall,

Where courage lives quietly behind every wall.

He pauses at bedsides, then silently stays,

Leaving comfort behind in the smallest of ways.

No promises spoken to make it feel right—

Just faith for the morning, and strength for tonight.

This Christmas looks nothing like Christmas before,

With families divided and souls feeling sore.

We’re missing togetherness we long for once more,

Yet finding small moments to cherish and store.

Still hope is the force we stand in and claim,

Not loud or assured—but unbroken by pain.

It points us ahead, beyond this hard year,

Toward seasons of joy that are still drawing near.