A Warm Christmas

Christmas isn't the same anymore;
I won't buy gifts from the local store.
This year I will not chop down a tree,
or watch the little ones learn to ski.

I love all the ice and winds that blow,
but it's much too warm and lacking snow.
I miss the fire in the old wood stove
and ice fishing at the nearby cove.

Where's the blanket of white on the lawn?
Memories are lost, forever gone.
The earth's climate is way out of whack,
no Santa with sleigh or big red sack.

For fifty years ice hung from the eaves,
replaced by rain and all the wet leaves.
No snowmen or nose bitten by Jack,
or shoveling snow and soreness of back.

I won't drink hot chocolate or tea,
no snow-bent limbs for us all to see,
sand trucks not doing their nightly deeds,
or popcorn strung in the form of beads.

I won't welcome a warm Christmas day
or glove-less hands like a day in May.
I blame warming for my lack of bliss,
no mistletoe or the stolen kiss.

I venture outside to pray for snow,
the mercury is high, wish it was low.
Inside the house I hear my wife say,
"What'd you expect? We moved to LA!"

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