A Holiday Poem for ISPE Boston!

‘Twas the night before Christmas, in ISPE’s domain,
Not a piece of equipment was out of its lane.
The SOPs were placed by the systems with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The members of ISPE, in their dreams so deep,
While visions of compliance did peacefully sleep.
And I in my cleanroom, with my badge on my chest,
Had just settled in for a regulatory test.

When out in the lab there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the fumehood I flew like a flash,
Entered my password and threw up the sash.

The moon on the beakers of new-fallen brew,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the process in view.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny engineers!

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than audits his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

“Now, QC! Now, QA! Now, GMP and SOP!
On, Validation! On, Compliance! On, Sterility and GxP!
To the top of the tanks! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!”

As dry documents that before the wild inspector fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the roof-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of knowledge, 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 full gowning, from his head to his foot,
To protect the cleanrooms from the powder and soot.
A bundle of data he had flung on his back,
He looked like a regulator 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 SOP,
And the beard of his chin was as white as a stop.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Filled all the SOP binders; then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the fumehood 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, as he rode out of sight,
“Merry Christmas to ISPE, and to all a good-night!”