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As a child I grew up loving and listening to this poem read to me at Christmas.  It is fantasy at it's finest in my opinion.  I truly hope you will enjoy it as I did.  It's author was a man by the name of Clement Clarke Moore who first published it anonymously in 1823 but claimed he was the author in 1837.

Twas The Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were all hung by the chimney with care, in hope that St. Nicholas would soon be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her kerchief and I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter's nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow, gave a luster of midday to objects below, when, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, with a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick!!!

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name: "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, now, 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 housetop the coursers they flew, wth the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas 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 St. Nicholas 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 toys 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 on his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly that shook when he laughed like a bowl full 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 and filled all the stockings; 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 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 Christmas to all,
and to all a good night!"