The lovely Kato has put up some Mighty Fine poetry that I had never seen before and it was pretty damned good. Which brings me to poetry. A lot of it is very old and indecipherable. Even more of it is terrible and awful and should be consigned to the annals of hell (read everything ever written by anyone in school, angsty teens and most modern poets).
However, here’s a little thing from the late, great Robert Service that both my father, my grandfather and I kind of loved a lot.
My Father Christmas passed away When I was barely seven. At twenty-one, alack-a-day, I lost my hope of heaven. Yet not in either lies the curse: The hell of it’s because I don’t know which loss hurt the worse— My God or Santa Claus.