This Time of Year
I want to write a Christmas poem,
But the muse ain't in the mood;
I look outside, it seems like Spring.
I really think I'm screwed.
There's not a flake of snow out there,
The sun shines in the blue;
I believe the squirrels are copulating.
I really think I'm screwed.
Our geese stayed North again this year,
Our fauna's still in view;
It's hard to spot the cardinals;
I really think I'm screwed.
There's lights strung round houses,
With inflatables on the lawns;
They're out of place,
Look crude and rude;
I really think I'm screwed.
I'm not hearing silver bells
From sleighs running over snow;
It's a wonder we call this winter,
In a temperate Ontario.
But... the tree is up,
The gifts well-wrapped
With Love and Best Wishes too;
So, in lieu being surely screwed,
This verse will have to do.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wonderfully unique and witty tribute to Christmas and climate change. Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow! May you build a mountain of a snowman! Merry Christmas, Francie!