Belatedly, Happy New Year to all <(:-)
Thirteenth day
On the thirteenth day of Christmas,
no gifts were sent to me;
there was nothing for the isthmus,
my home since '93.
I was clearing up the garden,
just trying to set things straight,
when I heard a, 'Beg y'pardon?'
MyTrueLove, at the gate!
'I see Amazon delivered,'
he said; I nodded, 'Yes',
while Pierre Partridge sort of shivered
then made another mess.
'Well, a thousand thanks, MyTrueLove!'
I tried to sound upbeat,
but he shrieked, for Mrs Blue Dove
was pecking at his feet.
'I suppose I went a bit mad,'
he sighed, and hung his head;
'it's just, I thought you and FitLad…?'
I laughed. 'No, no,' I said.
'Let's go in; I'll cook six omelettes.'
I smiled, and in we went,
'midst the flares of seven trompettes
and leaps of tenfold gent.
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