Mouse in the House

stirring mouseNo stockings are hung by the chimney with care
Twitchy would have made short work of them anyway
I’ve never once slept in a ‘kerchief, nor he in a cap
And the construction clatter has gone on for so long
We hardly even notice it anymore
I’ve always wondered–
If the sleigh is so miniature
And the eight rein-deer so tiny
Why aren’t the presents tiny, too?
It would be a neat trick if St. Nick could appear
Tarnished with ashes and soot
Since we don’t have a chimney
Another reason why no stockings
And after eight months smoke free
We would pummel the jolly old elf
For smoking in our living room
Where, again, there are no stockings to stuff
This year the tree and the wreath
And the candy canes and gingerbread and eggnog
And ribbons and baubles and carols
And thistles and mistletoe and twinkling tinsel
Are all in my head
“Happy Christmas to all, I’m going to bed!”

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