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12/11/10 - (2)
The Ghosts of Christmas
When December's long-dark days Grow so unrelentingly cold That even those Dickensian ghosts of Christmas past and future, Let alone that of the lowly present, In perfectly enunciated "Bartleby the scrivener" fashion, "Prefer not" to make a fleet appearance on my stage, Then I know it's finally time for me to decide Whether I need to leave, for distant eternities, Or stay, provisionally, wait for the snow To bury the ghost of my Christmasless existence In a shroud white enough to hide the grayness of my soul.
12/11/10 - (2)
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