When Antarctica cool and crisp is in the night air,

The pigeons huddle and coo in some cozy fare.

Nestled in niche with nip of nutmeg in eggnog,

Some young n hearts fluster and at hearth flames agog...

Prying eyes against the window

As young Greg waited on tiptoe

To azure sky betwixt clouds that sway

For some harried bearer on way

Perhaps on hour or day near

With a cherub; a baby dear....

My mind escapes me.

My soul is now free.

Look I can waterski.

Buzzing like a bee.

I still don’t bungee....