‘Twas the night before New Years, when all through the Canadian land,

Not a taxpayer was happy, not even the taxman’s band;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that good economic and taxation policy soon would be there.

 

The Canadian citizens were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of budget surpluses and Justin Trudeau’s pending resignation danced in their heads;

And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,

 

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the Income Tax Act, the shutters and threw up the sash.

 

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny tax deer,

 

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be Santa Tax Reform, oh what a kick!

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

 

“Now Expenditure Cuts! Now, Deduction! Now, Credit and Offset!

On, Planning! On, Exemption! On, Bracket and Offset!

To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!

Now stash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

 

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of tax forms, and Santa Tax Reform too.

 

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney Santa Tax Reform came with a bound.

 

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of tax reforms he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

 

His eyes-how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

 

The stump of the Income Tax Act he held tight in his teeth,

And the ink, it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.

 

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

Filling our stockings with tax reforms; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

 

He sprang to his sleigh, to his tax team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

“Happy Tax Reform New Year to all, and to all a good tax night!”

 

And as for Trudeau, we’ll wait with bated breath,

For his resignation, and then an election to address,

Leaving behind the poor taxation policy that doesn’t thrive,

Here’s to hoping for better in two thousand twenty-five!