'Twas the night before Christmas, here at the North Pole,
and I feared our big deadline was a hopeless goal.
Our long lists of boys and girls, and addresses too,
were now vexing to manage — a redo overdue!
The data were buried in a mess of spreadsheets,
and the elves were crying "Help!" in emails and tweets.
They cursed and they swore when Excel crashed once more.
(So a mansion in Redmond I vowed to ignore.)
When outside the workshop there arose an odd noise,
I waddled from my old desk with more hope than poise.
Out in the snow was parked a snazzy flying car
with shiny blue paint that reflected the North Star.
The driver emerged and my dark worries did cease
because I knew right away it must be "Saint Dries".
I welcomed them all — a team led by the tall gent
with spiky hair-icicles and Belgian accent.
I told them our sad tale of a data nightmare,
of flat files, scattered papers, and flaky software.
The content mismanagement was too much to bear,
but they assured my poor staff we need not despair.
"Replace that tangle of one-off utilities
with a website using Drupal's abilities."
They spoke no more praise but began working like mad,
and soon produced wireframes that looked totally rad.
They chose modules with care, these downloads they came.
The team typed happily as they called them by name:
"Now Token and then Rules!
Next Views and CTools!
Then JQuery Update!
Plus Backup and Migrate!
download and install!
Add them to the website!
Enable them all!"
We gave them plenty of our taxonomy tags,
such as "toys" and "dolls" and "coal" and "bags".
The cool website they built would surely save the day,
and cookies and milk is all they asked for in pay.
They left in their car, like a streaking water drop,
when its flux capacitor gave a thunderous pop.
And I heard them exclaim as they faded from sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Drupal night!"