'Twas Three Days after Christmas

'Twas three days after Christmas,

'Twas Sunday to be exact,

Nary a creature was stirring, 

Everyone was asleep in the house.

Bows and ribbons were out on the street,

Dumpsters lids were open gaping mouths

stuffed with far too much to eat.  

 

The church bell high above chimed eleven,

the hardiest of saints filled the seats,

but only a few, for most were fast asleep 

dreaming of tables filled with cakes and pies,

new kitchen towels and more red ties.

Here and there a soul roused at the bell

only to make themselves more snug in the bed.

 

Jesus rose from the lifeless nativity scene,

He came to life making quite a clatter,

He looked and saw no shepherds and wise men,

and certainly not a sleeping saint like me

too hungover with Christmas egg nog

to make even a reluctant appearance

in the house where He is to be worshiped this day.