I’m traditionally a diehard holiday fan,
A full on fruitcake with a git ‘er done plan,
But this year my spirit is Christmas crackered,
I’m flat out tired and totally knackered.
But wait there’s myrrh, Mom’s spine is whack,
She stepped on a crack and broke her back,
Two surgeries this month at 82-years-young,
Leaving us on edge and a little high strung.
Anxiety weighs heavy like roasted chestnuts,
Bah humbugging festivities no matter what,
When suddenly I hear the bells ring-a-ling,
Jimmy Stewart hollers, “Clarence got wings!”
Turns out December is angels’ high season,
Calling in guardians stands to reason,
A healing hand up from those who depart,
Pa-rum-pum-pum-pum beats my shriveled grinch heart.
Enough of this depressmess, reindeer games await,
Vixen’s got her drank on, inebriating a clean slate,
Slurping wine and eggnog round the yuletide log,
Caesar’s Christmas morning, a little hair of the dog!
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