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Twas the night before Christmas, I finished the trees.
And feeling good cheer, I'd drank a few beers.
The treats I'd laid out didn't last very long.
As I found myself snacking, I knew that was wrong.
 
Then, later in bed, I awoke with a start.
And realized the reason: my own noisy fart.
Like sounds of ducks quacking, my buttocks were clapping.
I was almost surprised that the bed sheets weren't flapping.
 
It woke my poor spouse, and he yelled, "What the hell!"
As the noise from these quack-ers had caused quite a smell.
I told him a flock of wild ducks had flown in.
And although it was late, they'd decided to sing.
 
He said grab the Gas-X and tell them to leave.
As their singing was lousy, and he felt he might heave.
I told him I'd looked, but the Gas-X was gone.
And I feared that the duck tunes may last all night long.
 
So I handed him earbuds plus nose plugs as well. 
And I said that would help block the sounds and the smell.
He gave me a look, then he quickly fired back. 
"There's a wine cork downstairs; it will help plug that quack."

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