For the New Year: The Song Antipathetic

To Hell with all thy feckless holidays!
First Valentine’s Day, then spring bringeth Easter
With chocolate bunnies and those Passion Plays
That knock thee down, flat on thy mental kiester.
After that, Bastille Day brings no cake
In spite of Marie Antoinette, our sprite,
And empty Labour Day, for heaven's sake!
All meaningless, unhappy, and so trite.
For thus we celebrate thy autumn’s harvest:
Get thee a pumpkin, let the apples dry,
And heed the song of turkeys that thou carvest,
“Gobble, gobble, sweet potato pie.”
Then Christmas! Stop, please ponder, and just stop.
I’ve had enough of all this festive slop.