THE YULETIDE MUSE alights once a year
And prattles her song, auspicious and clear,
Of gaudy decorations in orange and pink,
Of carols, of merriment, but mostly--of Drink.
For the past year's tribulations, for the next's gloomy signs
She offers this remedy: a flagon of wine.
No prophets or sages, Cassandras or seers
Can give men a forecast of troublesome years
That can't be outwitted, that can't be escaped
By an iron-hard will with the help of the grape.
And though man may stumble, and though man may fall
In scaling his personal paradise wall
There's always a pathway that leads safely down--
The Vine is a friend all the way to the ground.
BUT CHRISTMAS season, you cry in dismay,