It's a Goldberg Eagle Christmas.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp, Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were fastened to tiedowns with care In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.

The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots, While peak gusts from three two zero reached 39 knots.
I sank behind the fuel desk, now finally caught up, And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.

When over the radio there arose such a clatter, I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.
A voice clearly heard over static and snow, Asked for clearance to land at the airport below.......

(here for the rest)