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            How The Spy Stole Hearth's Warming             
                     -by TheHambone12-                     
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            How The Spy Stole Hearth's Warming             
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How The Spy Stole Hearth's Warming
‘Twas the Eve of Hearth’s Warming,  
And all through the town,  
All the ponies were scurrying,  
Not one with a frown.
Nopony had reason for gloom,  
Though their hooves were all numb,  
For they knew that Hearth’s Warming  
Had finally come.
This day was one the ponies  
Were all taught to love.  
It’s what powers the flaming heart  
That protects them from above.
When friendship and love  
Seize control of the day.  
If only to keep  
The Windigos at bay.
But, as I have your attention,  
There’s a point I must stress:  
Why didn’t they come back during all the bouts of chaos last season? Surely they must’ve come back during the final scene of “A Canterlot Wedding – Part 1”. That was basically a carcass for those beasts.  
But, for now, I digress.
The point: Hearth’s Warming was a time  
That the ponies loved a lot.  
But the Spy, who lived in the dragon’s old lair,  
Did not.
He hated the season,  
That cranky BLU Spy.  
No one knows the reason,  
And I ain’t telling you why.
He glared at the town  
That his cave home surveyed.  
Nothing they can do for the holiday  
For his heart to be swayed.
This time of laughter and singing  
Was a period of Hell.  
“And worst of all,” he snarled,  
“It’s the brainchild of the mother of Mare-Do-Well.”
How I wish to be closer,  
He spoke in his head,  
So I can play Sniper  
And shoot them all dead.
As he chuckled and chuckled  
At his imaginary plot,  
His mind was struck down  
With another thought.
Instead of those who celebrate  
This time of jubilation,  
He could deliver another blow  
With as much devastation.
He said, as he regarded  
The town up ahead,  
“If I can’t take any lives,  
I’ll take the holiday instead!”
He emitted a loud laugh,  
Full of sadistic glee.  
“Do you hear something, Rainbow Dash?” Twilight asked her cyan friend.  
“Beats me.”
The Spy chose a time he knew  
All the town was abed.  
And soon, he emerged  
From his rocky shed.
Bringing only body bags  
He smuggled from Teufort,  
“Watch out, ponies,” he whispered.  
“Hearth’s Warming will be mort.”
Donning his cloak,  
He started his trek,  
Knowing to keep  
His timing in check.
He knew stealing a holiday  
Was a gross endeavor;  
His time was short  
And his cover won’t last forever.
But as he made his descent,  
His confidence was sublime.  
“It takes ponies minutes to go up the mountain.  
I’ll be down in no time!”
Once again, he underestimated   
The mountain’s true power.  
By the time he reached the town,  
It was the witching hour.
As he turned off his cloak  
To let it recharge,  
He looked at the town,  
On whose gate he would barge.
He stared at the homes  
And he let out of scoff.  
“Just a big, stupid,  
Christmas rip-off.”
Now’s no time to stall,  
So he moved oh so slick.  
There’s a holiday to steal,  
And he had to be quick.
He looked around Ponyville,  
Knowing not where to start,  
Until he saw an oak tree  
That looked more like a work of art.
“This will be the first heist.”  
The old cranky Spy hissed,  
As he came through the door,  
Body bags in his fist.
He knew they weren’t locked;  
Thieves in town were quite rare.  
Thus, he began to rob  
The town library mare.
He took all the stockings,  
Both full to the brim.  
He took all the pine  
With a smile so grim.
He took all the bows,  
And the treats so delicious.  
He took all the presents.  
He even took Owlicious.
All things of the season,  
‘Neath a sky of black,  
The Spy but swooped up  
And put right in his sack.
But when he saw the town feast  
With which Twilight was entrusted,  
He heard footsteps on stairs.  
Surely, he had been busted.
He called on his cloak  
To aid him once more.  
He prayed it would hold  
As the footsteps came fore.
He knew he could take her,  
But he can’t take the chance,  
For the unicorn proved much tougher  
Than appears at first glance.
But it was not the unicorn  
He expected to see,  
But her assistant, Spike,  
Looking quite drowsy.
He wasn’t concerned  
About this passerby,  
Until he saw Spike  
Stare dead at the Spy.
He realized in horror  
He still had the bag  
All snug in his palm.  
His plan hit a snag.
He moved not an inch,  
Knowing his hopes were all gone.  
But as he stood there,  
The dragon released a yawn.
Spike’s fingers met bridge  
As he shook his head.  
“I gotta stop eating sugar plums  
Right before bed.”
He returned to the stairs  
From whence he came.  
The Spy was relieved,  
Deprived of such shame.
He let this small setback   
Affect him the least,  
And returned to his work,  
Stealing the whole feast.
He quickly snuck out,  
And he moved just as fast,  
For it was Hearth’s Warming,  
Ponyville’s last.
He repeated his crime  
Throughout the whole city,  
Sans a hint of remorse,  
Sans a hint of pity.
He gobbled everything  
And filled each bag to the top.  
Until Sweet Apple Acres  
Was his final stop.
The fireplace roared  
As the Spy stepped in.  
The tree seemed   
The perfect place to begin.
He gazed on the base  
And observed each gift.  
He picked them all up  
And began to sift.
Granny Smith got some yarn  
And needles to fiddle.  
Applejack got some wood  
And a knife to whittle.
Big Mac got a dress  
For the annual ball.  
Its size suggested it was for  
His Smarty Pants doll.
And Apple Bloom’s gift  
Took The Spy aback.  
For inside was an egg shell  
Of Granny Smith-green Gak.
“Oh, please.” Said the Spy  
As he threw it in the fire.  
A sight only the Pyro  
Could truly admire.
He spoke not a word.  
He returned to his work,  
And did with this house   
as the others with a smirk.
His speed was fierce,  
His heart filled with glee,  
Though he did steal an apple  
From the family tree.
And the last thing he took  
Before he ended his pursuit  
Was a sleigh on which  
He could easily carry his loot.
He smiled, satisfied;  
His work was done  
Only five minutes before   
Celestia raised her sun.
Half way up the mountain,  
He saw the town below,  
And marveled at his craft  
As it began to snow.
As he looked over his cave,  
His booty scattered about,  
He knew he was victorious.  
“Was there ever any doubt?”
But then, a strange sound  
Was caught in his ear.  
He stepped outside  
To better hear.
From the town square  
Came a wonderful ringing,  
For in the town square,  
All the ponies were singing.
The Spy watched the ponies  
Singing with delight,  
And said to himself  
“This just can’t be right!
It came without ribbons!  
It came without lights!  
It came without gifts  
Or any of that trite!”
He thought and thought  
Until, before long,  
He finally got the message  
Of the ponies’ song.
The holiday below  
Was about making amends.  
It was about peace and harmony.  
It was about making friends.
Maybe one can find  
The calm in the storm.  
Maybe one can change.   
And make the hearth warm.
As he looked over them all,  
In good fortune and luck,  
He thought and said  
“Ah, who gives a fuck?”
For several hours after,  
The Spy danced around,  
Not an ounce of shame  
And regret to be found.
Instead, he was proud  
Of his grand feat.  
He’d knew that they’d never  
Look here for their treats.
He congratulated himself  
On such a good job,  
But when he turned around,  
There stood an angry mob.
The reason that robberies  
Almost never occurred  
Was that robbery itself  
Is an almost unholy word.
Even this time was not  
Exception to the rule.  
And the time has come   
To get rid of the fool.
As they all stared him down,  
The Spy felt scared.   
And the last thing he said before he high-tailed it was:  
“Ah, merde.”
Happy holidays, everyone!