Wednesday, August 12, 2009

A Nativity Mystery

He has no documents extant,
No records of His life.
No paper trail will find him out.
He's uncut by that knife.

He's American as baseball
And homemade apple pie;
But if you press his place of birth,
He'll spit right in your eye.

Don't seek his advent doctor's name.
A COLB is all you'll get.
Don't ask where his first squalls took place.
Just kiss his coronet.

He'll smile his Serengeti smile
And snare you with his spell;
But ere you learn where he was spawned,
You'll ice - skate, first, in Hell.

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