Whined to the Tune of Jingle Bells
Withered leaves, curled and dead
Falling from on high.
Poinsettias come in my door
Hang their heads and die!
Come on over and join me at An Army of Ermas where the hostess with the compostest is armpit deep in live Labradors and dead leaves. Oh, and hot glue. Don't forget the hot glue.
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