The Creep-Sweepers

On a cold New Year’s morning, my sweet young love dovers,
While your head’s deep asleep in your warm storm of covers,
The magical, tragical, drastical, fantastical
Creep-sweepers are priming their time-sucking drubbers.

They’ll silently float to the crown of the ocean
Where they’ve stayed far away from the throngs and commotion.
Their tubers and poobers will hang down below them
As they leap from the waves with an effortless motion.

They’ll click and they’ll clack as they tick and they tock.
They will streak as they sip worn-out time from the clocks.
In an instant they’ll scrub, drub and schlub out the time,
Till their tubers are stuffed and their poobers are stocked.

As mom and dad know, they’re a wonderful sight
As they whiz and they whuz and they whoop through the night.
They’ll take all the old, leave the new, bid adieu,
Then they’ll flee to the sea from the height of their flight.

Christmas morning is boring compared with the glee
Of gazillions of creep-sweepers out on a spree.
So, you green ones, you teen ones, you wee bitty-bean ones,
Stay awake New Year’s Eve and just see what you see.