So with Winter-een-mas  (http://www.wintereenmas.com) being only a week away and time on my hands. Here you go.

Twas the night before Winter-een-mas,
     in one darkened arcade,
From the back came the glow,
     of a game being played;
The power-ups were mighty,
     the top score was near,
The gamer grinned wide,
     for Winter-een-mas was here.

As gamers 'round the world
     waited with anticipation,
Huddled in groups
     by their favorite game station;
The lone arcade gamer,
     with eyes lit up bright,
Beat the high score,
     at the stroke of midnight.

Then from the other machines,
     there arose such a noise,
The gamer startled and spun,
     clutching his coins;
As the dark arcade lit up,
     the gamer swallowed his fear
And watched as the spirits
     of Winter-een-mas began to appear.

Surrounded by light,
     they hovered in mid-air,
Such breathtaking beauty,
     he could not help but stare;
He knew them of course,
     all gamers did
And one by one,
     recognition set in.

The spirit of action and adventure,
     the platformer great
A hero by name,
     and an alpha by fate;
With a whip and a gun,
     or whatever may be,
Nothing stands in his way,
     with a princess in need.

Along side him he saw,
     a rather peculiar lad
Quiet by nature,
     with a desire to frag;
First person shooters are his field,
     his sole expertise
And no one is better,
     at bringing n00bs to their knees.

He couldn't mistake,
     with his many bruises and scrapes
The one who beats his opponents
     into interesting shapes;
It's the spirit of fighting games,
     and that's the reason he drools,
Too many blows to the head,
    and kicks to the jewels.

Be it a surprise zergling rush,
     or a skilled micro-management,
Through the fog of war,
     he saw the spirit that could handle it;
Empires had risen and had fallen,
     under his sole command,
There was just no disguising
     the real-time strategy fan.

There was the spirit of racing genre,
     looking ready to start,
With his goggles and racing gloves,
     and speed in his heart;
In a plane, or a boat,
     or just a fast automobile,
He's always at home
     when behind some sort of wheel.

As everyone does, 
     when the vixen of roleplay he saw,
The arcade gamer had to kneel down,
     to pick up his jaw;
With her mana and hit points,
     and ten-sided die,
Many fall under her RPG spell,
     and never know why.

And last but not least,
     the patron of sports games
Ailed by an old footbell injury,
     or that's what he claims;
Yard by yard and inning by inning,
     year after year,
They say he loves winning . . .
     almost as much as beer.

They spoke not a word,
     but went straight to their labors
Moving quickley and quietly,
     without waking the neighbors;
They spread Winter-een-mas joy,
    and when they were done,
These spirits flew off,
     for seven day of fun.

They took to the sky,
     with a whole world to travel,
And gaming to celebrate,
     to reach the last level;
But as they departed,
     the lone gamer heard them exclaim . . .

"A Happy Winter-een-mas to all, and to all a good game!"