This Christmas reading was written with good intentions, genuine affection and festive wishes to everyone who makes Niagara-on-the-Lake such a fantastic place to live. All the best for a very merry holiday season!” -Clare Cameron, councillor and deputy Lord Mayor
’Twas the last Council before Christmas, when all through Town Hall
No scandal was stirring, no drama at all.
The agenda was prepared by the Clerk with great care,
In hopes that the Ombudsman would not be there.
The papers insisted, “Journalism isn’t dead!”
While visions of Grant LaFleche danced in their heads.
And some people in PJs, and some in their toques,
Had just settled on a name for their new Facebook group.
When out on Stone Road there arose such a clatter,
I ran out to Silks for a cabbage roll platter.
Then away to the Avondale I flew like a flash,
Tore open some corn chips and got out some cash.
The moon on the breast of the new traffic light
Made Virgil look urban in the middle of the night.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a white BMW with a hatch in the rear!
With a little lady driver, with freshly done hair,
I knew in a moment it must be the Lord Mayor.
More rapid than mice fleeing a TTC train,
She whistled, and shouted, and called us by name:
“Now, BURROUGHS! Now CHEROPITA! Now MCCORMACK and WIENS!
On, ARSENAULT! On, BISBACK! On, CAMERON and…that other WIENS!
To the top of the clock tower! To the swish Outlet Mall!
Now dash away Costco and suburban sprawl!
As people that disappear in Penner’s for hours
Fall under a spell from that store’s superpowers
So up to the Region like councillors they flew,
With a sleigh full of Official Plan Amendments, and Gary Zalepa too.
And then in the clinking of empty wine glasses
Came a fresh crop of people from sommelier classes.
As they drew out a corkscrew and asked for more rounds
Down to the cellar Donald Ziraldo came with a bound.
He was dressed to the nines in a powder blue suit,
And his clothes were all tarnished with grape skins and juice.
A bundle of bottles was flung on the bar,
And he laughed like a Kinsman in a really old car.
His eyes – how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His jokes were so funny, was this Joe Pillitteri?
He carried a magnum in each of his arms,
And on land use he said, “we need acreage for farms!”
Meanwhile in St. Davids under bright orange light
A new crop of something was growing all night.
As neighbours experienced an odour indelible,
Snoop Dogg toured the site with a bowlful of edibles.
He wasn’t chubby or plump, and at risk of being bored,
So got visitor tips from Eduardo Lafforgue.
With a promise to keep overtourism at bay,
And a stack of brochures in a shiny red sleigh.
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And read a few hundred emails; it’s a political perk.
And as Lord Mayor Disero saw this year’s legal bill,
And giving a nod, said it is the people’s will;
She sprang to her Beamer, with a nod to the feisty
And away they all flew like the seeds of phragmites.
But I heard her exclaim, and it was no mistake,
HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, IN NIAGARA-ON-THE-LAKE!