The time I’ve spent, the paper – acres
To write a poem fit for Quakers;
A poem so vulpine and Foxlike,
The thing that aging Quaker crocks like.
The strain of it my greying locks tell,
I’ve even sought out help from Foxtel;
And once I thought I had it right –
Until I held it in the light.
I’ve done my best, I’ve tried and tried,
But now I wish to stand aside.
So though my efforts may dismay,
It’s Christmas, so what canst thou say?