Santa Uses Federated Search

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
The only things moving were me and my mouse.

The stockings were lying on the long coffee table,
Waiting for gifts like a doll or a dreidel.

And I with my spectacles on the end of my nose,
Was searching for those, a bit late, I suppose.

My cursor was flying all over the screen;
My forehead was covered in a light oily sheen.

When suddenly before me what did appear?
But a search box for stockings – how totally queer!

I blinked a few times and then ate a Pringle,
Opened the window and heard a faint jingle.

Pandora, I thought, as the fireplace roared,
Glanced at the stockings, they couldn’t be ignored.

So I settled myself down, ergonomics were shot.
My fingers were flying, the keyboard grew hot.

And I entered and searched and everything I found
Was perfect for my family and those all around

I printed purchase after purchase, draining printer ink,
Then noticed a flashing on screen – a new link.

“Delivery Schedule” it shouted silently
And a feeling of dread engulfed me

Did my search box not work? Was it false advertising?
I let my head fall; was it really surprising?

When at the tree, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.

The cookies were gone, the milk had been sipped;
I turned to the stockings, brows furrowed, tight-lipped.

And gasped as each one was filled to the brim
With presents and candy – my sight grew quite dim.

When suddenly my computer screen flashed so bright,
“Merry Christmas to all,” it said “and to all a good night!”