Christ mass comes but once a year,
Celebrate with lusty cheer.
Only one and thirty days, left to go.
Commercial days, to get the presents ,O.
August now the count is started,
Marked with lumps of melted.
Advent chocolate.
To remember that stable manger,
Now long corroded in that,
Time in Bethlehem.
Rush to get the gifts and presents,
Forget,not.
Not any one?
Turkey, Duck, Goose or Pullet.
Ham, Beef, or even the Lamb.
Nuts, pudding, fruit, rum.
All this I watch in insulare environment.
I make no comment drole.
In this closed and walled confinement.
I have 12 Christmases to Parole.
2007-11-16 00:43:52 · 4 answers · asked by Anonymous in Arts & Humanities ➔ Poetry
stercus accidit
2007-11-16 01:11:12 · update #1
"no comment drole", that's nice.
I like it.
EDIT: Twobob, will you excuse us for a moment? Thanks.
DFA: Bonjour, mon chéri.
Non, I went to a Turkish restaurant for lunch. No truffles...
I am going back to work now, and hope to see you later.
x
2007-11-16 00:50:53 · answer #1 · answered by Lady Annabella-VInylist 7 · 1⤊ 0⤋
Tres bon, Monsieur!
2007-11-17 14:09:49 · answer #2 · answered by Oh My God! 6 · 0⤊ 0⤋
Tres bon, Monsieur!
2007-11-16 11:35:09 · answer #3 · answered by Marguerite 7 · 2⤊ 0⤋
umm...
Je marche drole...
I like your poem, was just making a comment about myself...
ANNABELLA, mon cheri... good afternoon to you... hope you had some white truffle soup and some nice foie gras for lunch. How was your day ?
EDIT: have a good afternoon, I like Turkish food, it cleanses your lower digestive tract with a series of gentle explosions without interrupting your sleep...
2007-11-16 09:00:51 · answer #4 · answered by Anonymous · 1⤊ 0⤋