The Night Before Color

‘Twas the night before color, and all throughout space
Not a gold star was shining; they were all white as lace.
There were no white stockings hung on the wall,
Only one tall, gray tree about seven feet tall.
The children all slept in their black and white beds
With visions of grayscale treats in their heads.
From up on the roof there was such commotion
That I rose from my nap, taken by an odd notion.
Was it the fat man about whom it was said
That his huge luscious coat could be only called red?
I did not understand how this red could be true
When black, white, and gray were the sole real hues.
I shrugged on my blackish-gray, long winter cloak
When straight through the roof came a big, cheery bloke.
I was quite surprised, and I let out an “Oh!”
As I noticed the fellow’s exceptional glow.
He was made of bright colors with no black and no white,
and all things he touched became equally bright.
A great smile he issued under white facial hair
And with a great clap, my ceiling repaired.
He danced ‘round the room (‘twas a comical scene),
and when he touched the tree, it began to turn green.
Continuing on, he touched all things he could,
From the candles of wax to the floorboards of wood.
To me he then came and brushed his hand on my arm,
My skin gained its color, much to my alarm!
He laughed and went ‘round to the wood door uncured
Colors now spreading of their own accord.
And he said as he jumped and flew into the night,
“Embrace these new colors, for your world is now bright!”