The Curmudgeon

YOU'LL COME FOR THE CURSES. YOU'LL STAY FOR THE MUDGEONRY.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Winter Solstice

The altars are thrown down; the stones are gone
To build His holy walls and guard His light;
Cathedrals, oubliettes to blaze His might:
The many gods are swallowed by the One.
The celebration feasts of meat and wine
Are now the fodder of more sober folk;
The mistletoe an osculators' joke;
The nights diminished that the Son may shine.

Pity this sordid exit of the year:
Poor kidnapped feast, disfigured holiday,
Now tinsel-blinded 'mid the salesmen's bark
While prosperous and pious are astir.
The days will brighten, hot upon their play
While I deplore the shrinking of the dark.

Muskie Butsell

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