The holidays are coming all too soon.
They are called "the," although the year's as strewn
With celebrations as with changing moon,
And that calling they have us neglect
Some other ends to which we might direct
Our energies, perhaps to more effect
Than in hanging colored lights from trees
Or putting leaves on tables, knocking knees
With people one day in every year sees
And whom we quite dislike. It matters not,
However, although I have often thought
That I should stand aside, indeed, I ought
To quietly get out of people's way
And let them have their happy holiday.