December

by Vivian Liebenson

Dead leaves scrape in the wind,
Early sunsets, a night owl’s dream.
Cold, dark mornings beg for candles. (Who am I kidding? I’m never up that Early.)
Menorahs twinkling and latkes frying.
Better buy your gifts online;
Even after all these years you can’t compete with Olympic-medal Christmas shoppers.
Revel in the holiday madness, as January’s bland buffet of un-specialness will be here soon enough.

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