On this night we observe the world of guilt,
Our consciences full of marzipan and myrrh,
And conifers where crabgrass clippings were,
Poinsettias, never to grow or wilt,
Unless tomorrow comes. And no one tells
The littlies, That is so. The manger moves
To U-Rent Storage Lockers, and the bells,
The bells, and clever evidence of hooves
Abscond, like fireflies or currant puds.
We are returning all our gifted goods.
We are remembering the little slights.
We’re cold and lonely on these winter nights.
Who knows what reindeer do in northern woods,
Where no one can unstring the brilliant lights?
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