’tis

’tis

Advent’s final days spit
more crickets
than Christmas lights.

My cardigan acts
like pet cats slithering
in and out the kitchen door.

Soon, the cardinals
will pop like blood
on a wedding dress.

Under the spell
of sprouts and rice pudding,
the tree appears real.

We’ll toast
to upside-down raindrops
and camouflage.

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