The cupboard cannot hold them
these merry mugs of cheer.
For sweetly drinking Christmas,
Out of boxes pulled each year.
I cannot fit them with the rest
so tumbled out I’ll leave them,
spilling Christmas nog and joy
with every chance I see them.
They wink as I drink my morning cuppa
And froth piping hot at noon
Then steam sweet with friends at evening
And swirl my kids with chocolate spoon.
‘Twill be with sadness to tuck them away
at end of yuletide season.
One shall resist the packing day
To declare, against Christmas’ end, its treason.