Something is in it, a sort of drug or mischief
Something is in it, the sudden hope's rebirth
Something is in it, the new urge for all to give
Something is in it, something cuddled in the earth
And every December this thing awakens, marched
Upon the soul of men, and they inbreathing it
Like rain sucked into a desert lung, dry, empty parched
Sends unwreathing forth a mist-bright spirit
Let them jingle bells and burn their logs by trees
Hung with decadence and lies, I shall remain alone
In custom melancholy, unaffected by the breeze
I will not behold the Medussa that turn all to stone
Categories:
unwreathing, holiday, introspection, drug,
Form: Verse