A Christmas Story

And in the spirit of posting things I give you my Christmas story, written just after Christmas...


In times long passed, or so it’s said,
Arose the souls of the recent dead,
And with a cry, on Christmas Eve,
Did visit those who would not grieve.

And upon this most fateful of nights,
Vincent received a terrible fright,
To see his granny hovering thus,
Above the number seven bus.

A girlish scream he did emit,
And had an epileptic fit,
The local people, not too smart,
Began to pound him in the heart.

There fitting on the frosty tar,
He lay receiving CPR,
And so it was no small surprise,
That all the life went out of his eyes.

Confused and scared Vince saw himself,
In somewhat less than perfect health,
And over him the doctor Phil,
Was beating his dead body, still…

So flexing his new ghostly arms,
He vowed to do the moron harm,
Forgetting poor old Granny dear,
Who just remained, hovering near.

But looking then he saw the star,
Of Christmas floating high and far,
Enthralled he flew to this new goal,
Not knowing it was a black hole.

And so our story endeth thus,
The people got back on the bus,
The ghosts returned to… Heaven, say
And all in time, for Christmas day.