George B. Thomas
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'Twas the night before HubMas, when all through the house
Not a sequence was stirring, not even a mouse!
The workflows were set in the platform with care,
In hopes that the Big Orange Sprocket soon would be there.
The sales team was nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of qualified leads danced in their heads.
Marketing with their goals, and I with my cap,
Had just settled our strategic brains for a long winter's nap.
When through all the Hubs there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to my laptop I flew like a flash,
Tore open my reports and cleared out my cache.
The campaigns we setup were clearly in flow,
Given luster by the properties and custom objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a gathering of HubHeroes drawing so near.
With a glowing leader so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment, it was the Big Orange Sprocket!
More efficient with automation, his features they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, CONTENT! Now, SEO! Now, TASKS and TEMPLATES!
On, FILES! On, LEADS! On, PLAYBOOKS and SNIPPETS!
To the top of the PIPELINE! to the top of the BLOG!
Now, CONVERT THE LEADS! CONVERT THE LEADS! CONVERT ONE AND ALL!"
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky!
So, around the big Flywheel, the features they flew —
With the sleigh full of tools, and the Big Orange Sprocket, too!
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
ATTRACTION, ENGAGEMENT, and DELIGHTION – OH … so smooth.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney came the Sprocket with promises of INBOUND.
He was dressed all in orange, from his head to his foot,
With a message that all of the old ways were now caput!
A bundle of tools he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His lead scoring — how it twinkled! His forms, how merry!
His emails were so good, their CTAs … so very!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
The finest cigar was held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the deal pipelines; then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney 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, 'ere he drove out of sight:
“Happy HubMas to all, and to all a good night!” 🎁
