Christmas Gift

I still have a splinter from fall. From climbing a tree that was tall. Seeing mittens or a scarf. Makes me want to barf. When winter makes an appearance. It should make sense. I just wish fall was more than a precursor. To the chapped lips I will incur. There never seems to be a “middle.” Winter is an all-encompassing riddle. Winter is something we fall into. A curse that we seem to never undo. Then it’s Christmas everywhere. Shopping for presents with icicles in my hair. But when I find a perfect gift… I don’t even care that it’s not a thrift. They say he was found in September. And is still here in November. He is a little strange. And might have a little mange. They say he was found with a splinter from climbing a tree. And was stung by a bee. Until a nice man helped him down. He really should deserve a crown. It’s not Christmas yet. But the chill in the air, I forget. I have a sweet cat to cuddle in my bed. He prevents icicles on my head. Christmas everywhere. In here. Is my new cat. I put him in a Santa hat. We take a Christmas picture together. I suddenly don’t mind the harsh weather. I simply wear a warm sweater. As I listen to him purr, as we cuddle together.