I Found the Christmas Spirit in March
I hear the same tired story, year after year,
the one about Santa and eight tiny reindeer -
just before they say, "Leave cookies - be of good cheer".
So, I say, "Humbug!", and go to bed with a beer.
That spiel pounds in my head, hoof after hoof,
but a tough guy like me requires some proof.
This year, I woke up atingle, no longer aloof.
Imagine my glee to find poop on my roof.
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