‘Twas their time to practice carolling hymns—heralds for the church,

But seasoned succentor was absent from his broadcasting perch.

Soon, it was relayed that he was, indeed, just a little hoarse,

Which, at first, relieved the singers of their worried state of course.

So, they synced sighs of relief that he was tardy albeit fine;

Ticks later, he arrived—a tiny, ready-to-rock equine! ; )

Hannah’s hōzue prepared pensive mind’s metanoia, which would situate sense into ideations that tumbled, forwarding faithful upliftment upon retired recumbency. ; )

Ready to fish, perches sea’s ghosting gull

As recipients of its pending cull

Will soon be, themselves, depth’s spookiest tells,

Ringing a la phasmophobia’s bells. ; )

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. ; )