That time of year again I guess: 'Twas the night before Christmas,and at the FBO, Not a helicopter was stirring, not even a 105 BO. The rotor blades 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, With the wind from 360 gusting 35 knots. I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up, And settled down comfortably,resting my butt. When the radio lit up with noise and some chatter, I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter. A voice clearly heard over the static of night, Requested landing clearance for 36 right. He barked his transmission so lively and quick, I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick". I ran to the panel to turn up the lights, The better to welcome this magical flight. He called his position, no room for denial, "St. Nicholas One, procedure turn inbound for final. "And what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a Bell built sleigh, with eight Ranger Reindeer! With precision on final, down the glide slope he came, As he passed by all fixes, he called them by name: "Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun! On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'? While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their heads, They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread. The message they left was both urgent and dour: "When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower. "He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking, Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking. "He slowed to a hover, turned off of three-oh, And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho-ho... "He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk, 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 pepperment, gone slightly stale, And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale. His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly, His boots were as black as a UH-60's belly. He was chubby and plump, in his bright red suit of array, And he asked me for a can of prist and a tank of Jet A. He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump, I knew he was anxious for drainin' his 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 restroom, and sighed in relief, Then he picked up the phone and dialed 1-800-WX-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!! "And laying a finger on his push-to-talk, He contacted the tower for clearance and a squawk. "Take taxiway Charlie, in the southbound direction, Turn right to three-six-zero at pilot's discretion. "He sped down the runway, the best of the best, "Your traffic's a Huey, inbound from the west. "Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed thru the night, "Merry Christmas to all!! I have the traffic in sight. "HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL OF YOU, AND KEEP IT SAFE!