Vega the weaver patiently sits
on her enchanted workbench
of cobwebs and silvery beams
skillfully weaving her pictures
of dreams spun in azure blues
and pinpoint dots of stars
early Christmas gifts are made
for all her fairytale friends
the wooded sprites of forest glades
fairy princesses of glowing leaves
and elves of playful mayhem
though the Christmas holiday
is about seven months away
while a drunken crescent moon lay down
on his back sipping a flask of Planter's ***
on a lake of scattered moonbeams