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An Arabis of Arabs
Twas the morning before Christmas, when all through the house;
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung on the stair rails with care
Haphazardly filled by passersby when they care;

The boomerang boy was snug in his bed;
Xbox controller on the floor where it fell;
And mamma in her flannels, and I in my house coat;
Coffee in hand and running the laundry

And if you think I'm going to paraphrase the whole damn poem, well...
no.

So for the early risers this Christmas Eve and the Brits preparing their elevenses,
A L' Art de la Guerre battle report
It's freshly painted Tuaregs verses Byzantines!

https://philonancients.blogspot.com/2025/12/an-arabis-of-arabs.html
enjoy