Christmas. Oh, Christmas. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My stomach can reach, when another bite is right
For the ends of turkey and ideal stuffing.
I love thee to the level of every store's
cheapest price, by day and middle-night.
I love thee freely, as men approach a fight;
I love thee purely, as though in a daze.
I love thee with the passion I get from booze
In my old pants, and with my childhood's stuffies.
I love thee with a love I never lose
With my festive vest,–I love thee with the lights,
garlands, wrappings, of all my life!–and, if God choose,
I shall love thee better after death.