Horrific pun. Here's a little Christmas poem by John Berryman to get you into the spirit of things, seeing as it is December now and all. I know I've blogged him before but this time it's contextual.
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Christmas again, when you're supposed to be happiest.
The tree's decorated, the baby's agog with joy
& Santa is a white- thatched boy
down our main small chimney with his best.
I hope he makes, we had to have it swept
after one fierce day when flames leapt.
We must live alone; he did; it deepens.
Falling and burning soot is not pleasing:
we thought we'd loose the house.
Pride power loneliness, each in its season,
brought Henry up to three marriages
as up to Penn Station came Christian Gauss
there to drop dead, surround & alone
(charmed swam the hero of the Hellespont)
as Gaudi on the Street in Barcellona.
The fair lose more, having them more to lose
& the good & the geniuses.
Spent dangles of his life in colleges.
Then he limpt down the stairs and left the house