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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