There is an old place

Some call her timeless

A gift wrapped in lace

But her soul rhymeless

Urging you outside

The snow on your hair

The town is your ride

A carriage with flair

Take the silver reins

Snap the tinseled back

See the ruffled dames

Tip your hat with tact

Lights will lead you on

Christmas Tree ahead

Ornamented swan

Gorgon without dread

All is pretty here

This fair wonderland

No reason to fear

The Cherub masked band

Step down from your seat

Gather round the tree

Smell the burning meat

From a witch now free

What’s left of her writhes

Fire angel on top

Her sin for our tithes

And rains for our crop

Find her gristle toe

Stand beneath her grease

Kiss the blushing doe

You find, then release

Grab a souvenir

A finger will do

A token for cheer

Then make your adieu

And on your way home

Down a dark corner

Covet where your roam

Land with no mourner

Your hot toddy waits

Passed the old threshold

A toast to the fates

Clothed in iron mould

Listen to the choir

Wind beneath your eave

Give praise to the pyre

And then take their leave

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

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