'Twas the night before Wardmas, on the jobsite so grand, Phil Toth stood with blueprints tightly clutched in his hand. Workers had long vanished, their tools neatly stowed, While the midnight calm over the scaffold flowed. Back to the hall, where the lights softly glowed, Dreams of new projects serenely bestowed. Amidst silent scaffoldings, shadows stood tall, Echoes of hammers a silent recall. "Merry Christmas to all," Phil quietly mused, As the moon watched over structures profusely infused. While stars like nails pinned the blanket of night, Peace reigned supreme, in their soft glowing light.