Mortified

Christmas past,

Christmas present,

Christmas future,

Why the middle is never glorified?

Tantalizing treats that make the mouth water don’t last,

Adventures that turn toes white with cold are unpleasant,

Friends whose voices ring with harmony, their smiles blur,

These in the past are amplified.

Dreaming of a meal loved by all, served with perfect class,

Theater presentations to leave all folk jubilant,

Traveling minstrels our cloaks encumber,

All these plans for next season are fortified.

Choices of each, to make us aghast,

Entertainment there lacking, our noses are bent,

Nothing in common, no pot left to stir,

Through these times, for sure, all are mortified.

About Bob

Bob has been a writer all his life. He has had to do many other things to buy groceries and make his car payments, but most of these things have involved writing, in one genre or another.
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