At the Church Of Saturday’s Saint Nicholas, every soul must contribute a donation, but some are expected to antler up more than others.

Relaying a Bullwinkle so big as compared to just a single tithe-pig—it leaves some wondering if that which is held most deer is worth more than that about which they swine.

“Perhaps, though, it is not about establishing each fair for you, but about any care will do.” mused the Christmas Caribou. ; )

Old Scratch laid out a patch

For enticing a skate on thin ice,

But Hope survived the trope

By heeding Frost’s poetic advice. ; )

Portraitist’s preferred subject, her sister, ironically a paysagist, developed lithely limber limbs from toting canvases and easels across ever precarious terrains whence she oft invited her sibling to join her as a point of reference complementing her own pieces. ; )

Even as some memory moments melt away via caducity, the most beloved ones remain firmly frozen in frame, ever reflecting their comfort in lambent lucidity. ; )

Squirrelled away for me

In my most favourite tree,

Stashes of nosh nutty—

From enormous to wee—

Elicit feels of glee

From self on bended knee

As love is oft funny

Twixt nibbler and nibblee

When stash of nature’s free

Leads heart to jumpily

Ready for energy,

Seeking seeds happily

By ghazal’s melody

Minding acornily. ; )