Monks are at it again, quaffing, carousing;

And stage-coaches, cantering straight out of Merrie England,

In a flurry of whips and fetlocks, sacks and Santas.

 

Raphael has been roped in, and Botticelli;

Experts predict a vintage year for virgins.

 

From the theologically challenged, Richmond Bridge,

Giverny, a lugger by moonlight, doves.   Ours

 

Costs less than these in money, more in time;

Like them, is hopelessly irrelevant,

But brings, like them, the essential message

 

Love


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