To darkest season, must our reason turn.
Twas dvised: election follows equinox;
then shocked, is sobered solstice sure to spurn
warm weathers spawn, left neath poor-proofed locks.
No wood in fireplace, nor goods in mantles socks?
In fall foul Falwell, begged: let Bonzo be;
the fooled then followed. They set back the clocks
(though daylight saving, we might no more see).
With colds and costs, we wonder: who is free?
Tis told: just they who play with potrys pun,
who een see sound in needlbare yuletide tree.
Enough! The elements, must we learn to run.
Old dogs, though, miss hors doeuvres; mirth is oerdue,
so Merry Christmas! Happy New Year too!
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