This time of year,
When trees go bare
And snow covers our ground,
I come down
With a seasonal disease...
Weeks prior to Christmas Eve.
The onset is a distant twinkle
Shimmering in the deep;
That gives me such a nuanced twitch...
I itch to hang a wreath.
And when I sneeze,
I'm joyfully pleased
To shop for such and stuff.
I horde it in a secret place,
Then worry I've not enough.
When my muscles get tired and weak,
My back gets bent and sore,
When my body starts to sweat...
I await the seasonal cure.
I'll run a fever, hullucinate,
Take to my bed and wait.
Don't present me meds,
Don't ring me up a nurse,
I'll protest and rave.
This winter ailment,
This gifting curse,
My present proclivity,
Will only break
Come Christmas morn.
Oh Come, Oh Come Nativity.