Merrily On High

Snow falls on the tombs of the past,

Consecrating sins that melt too fast,

Before the cold can freeze them still,

In statues of demons bereft of free will.

The day of Christ is covered in white,

A virginal coat pregnant with death,

No star appears on the broken night,

Shattered by dreams lost to God’s might,

While three wise men hold their breath,

As a red-faced saint finishes his flight.

Global warming is lost in the frost,

An irony that’s served with future cost.

As the streets and roads skid to a halt,

Giving our people an angelic jolt,

In the blinding light they are lost,

Thinking of St. Nicholas’s vault.

A week of mayhem duly ensues,

As celebrations never come in twos.

Work’s delayed, ignored for the season,

Employees lost in shopping queues.

Scrooges are mocked, accused of treason,

Christmas sceptics without good reason.

But soon all will be gone, an icy retort,

Wrapped up with a bow for a rainy day,

A Boxing Day present for the nasty sort.

The snow will succumb to three degrees,

Good will shall melt by New Year’s Day.

Reality returns, on a vindictive sleigh,

As we await next year's indulgent sleaze.

© menshallknownothingofthis.co.uk 24.12.2009