Better watch out, better not cry, better not pout; oh, and look out for this guy…
‘Twas the night ‘fore St. Patrick’s and all through the home,
No creature did stir, except me writing this tome.
The stockings were folded and placed in their drawers
Because the wife does get angry if I leave them on floors.
The dog was nestled all snug in the bed
While visions of whatever dogs think about flew through her head.
And my wife comatose on the couch without tossing
Because dealing with me is completely exhausting.
When outside my window there arose a great sound,
I jumped from couch, stubbed my toe, then fell down.
“Stupid coffee table,” I hissed under breath
Then limped to the window, my toe feeling like death.
The moon in the sky could barely be seen
Due to our window’s layer of filth that is quite obscene.
When through the layer of dirt, I did finally spot
An Irishman flying on a gigantic shamrock.
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