’Twas the night before Christmas, and how cheerful the sight,
As the grid fed the glow of each home’s twinkling lights.
The meters spun softly, their telemetry flowed,
In hopes of no surge in the holiday load.
But the planners lay restless, awake in their beds,
While visions of queue requests danced in their heads.
And I cautiously turned, trying not to despair,
To the PJM forecast, for the solace found there.
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