‘Twas the month spat out Christmas, when all through the House
The pages kept turning, as willed the Mouse
The Brothers Warner also were there, the Death Star a faint glimmer hanging in air
As Image Bros all slept sound in their beds, visions of Image United danced in their heads
Dynamite making covers at furious pace, as many as stockings hung at the Duggars place
Christmas is once again on its way, as are more comics, if they got their paper today
The season is here so be of good cheer, the UPS truck might even get here
The boxes arrive, and none too soon, sent from Penguins and Diamonds, and even the Moon
Look at the manga! The stacks are so low!
Maybe Escaflowne reads better when wrapped with a bow
The hottest of floppys fly like reindeer off stands, bought by those with phones in their hands
As cardboard game cards, more valued than myrrh, vanish from glass cases where they once were
When I started I’d forgotten the poem was fifty-six lines long
Too long for a screen but I suppose I’ll press on
The pegs are all filled with wee plastic men, except for the guy who was packed one in ten
Gamers can’t contest without special dice, scattering and clattering so loud unlike mice
The back issues smelling like pulp gone so old, the plastic and tape wrap the flammable gold
Now, Stan!, now Steve!, now, Woody! and Will!
On, Joe!, on, Jack!, on Shelly!, on Bill!
These ghosts from the past still show the way, lighting up a dark night, soothing ’til day
Names still recalled like Santa or Saint Nick, just guys making comics and making them quick
Traditions all valued at your Graham Crackers store, for near forty years and surely quite more
Though commerce and Christmas should be kept at bay, the truth though unjust, it’s the American way
So hear me proclaim, as i slink into the night, I got 25 lines and I’m feeling all right
Now go enjoy the season, i say thee well played, have fun the 25th…unless it’s delayed.
