Not so long ago, not too far away
there was a young writer
(or “young,” so he’d say),
who, over the years, had forged a tradition,
a custom of sorts — maybe even a mission,
of drafting a poem for one special reason.
That reason, you guessed, is the holiday season.
Each Christmas, our writer would craft a few lines
of meter and verse of faux-Seusian rhyme,
detailing the changes that came with the year
and the antics of those whom he held oh-so dear.
Each poem was special, each one a delight
Like a snowflake aflutter on Christmas Eve night.
(The writer, by now you can certainly see
was given to such fits of hyperbole).
The poem tradition, it lasted for years
Until the year came that it didn’t appear
That’s the year that our writer, in a moment of loss
Sent the wrong column in to his newspaper boss.
“My piece runs on Thursday,” he explained to his wife.
“It been that way most of my writerly life.
But with Christmas on Wednesday, I lost track of the date
and now any poem, it would run a day late.
A Christmas poem running on 12-26?
Just thinking about it is making me sick.”
“Maybe it doesn’t matter,” the poor wife chimed in.
“Maybe, just maybe, it’s not such a sin,
to offer a poem a day or too late.
I’m sure anything that you write will be great.
Well it might even be that the readers don’t care,
that they won’t even miss this poetic affair.”
“Won’t miss it?” he riled, “why that’s just insane.
To not read my poem would bring them great pain.
How else would they know all the fun things we do,
or hear of the antics of Mills 1 and Mills 2.
Why to skip on the poem would crush a tradition
and put me in quite an unseemly position.”
Well, the writer’s wife knew that when he started ranting
it was best not to say things that may need recanting,
and that making a point, no matter how truthful,
could only result in a battle less fruitful.
So she just shook her head and fed him a line.
“I’m sure that whatever you write will be fine.”
So our writer debated a day and a night
until he eventually sat down to write,
and came up with a compromise column of sorts,
one to please both the pickers of nit, and the sports
who would happily look past the day and the date
(and even ignore that that rhyming’s not great).
And finally, our writer was able to say,
“Thank you for reading, and Merry Christmas,