The Pears Were Nice

The twelfth day of the holiday
Passed quietly for me:
No drummers (chased them all away);
Few birds (we’re down to three).
I love receiving gifts, but, man,
Reciprocating’s tough
When they don’t make a moving van
That’s nearly big enough
To pack up all the birds and women
That you sent this year.
Don’t start me on the swans a-swimmin’!
(That’s a fowl I fear.)
I don’t think that I can keep
This rivalry in play.
So call me cheap, but let me sleep!
No birds next Christmas day?


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