Rest The Merry Gentlemen

Haunted by holidays more than graveyards
He heard carols as an old banshee shriek  
And saw tinsel like a meteor streak
Scintillating only distant regards
Whose heat would not cross the reaches of space
To toast him like some alien Yule
Searching infinity for a fool
With some merriment upon his old face.
 
But all they got was miserable Greg
Who struggles all the nocturnal while
To crack his face with a decent smile
Or siphon a pint from the nog of egg
As he ponders how Christmas used to be
When the emphasis...was epiphany.