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Days after the day after Christmas
Have a tendency to underwhelm
The period that’s now known as Twixmas
Can be rather a confusing realm

You’ve consumed so much Christmas cuisine
Including the occasional sprout
You’ve enjoyed the excessive eating
But you think you’re developing gout

And though you’ve reveled in devouring
All of the fabulous festive food
The sight of your expanding midriff
Has begun to diminish your mood

But now that the turkey is eaten
And the cracker jokes all have been told
Though the holiday isn’t quite done
Melancholy begins to take hold

You know there are twelve days of Christmas
And we’re still only on number three
But the revelry has run its course
And you’re low on the seasonal glee

But maybe you should still celebrate
And make merry each night until dawn
But you find that by early evening
You’re already beginning to yawn

But perhaps you could keep on going
With the aid of an afternoon nap
And a glass or two every evening
Of that lovely Châteauneuf-du-Pape

Yes if sprout-soup is getting you down
And unwashed pots are filling your sink
Just sit down in front of the telly
Relax and irresponsibly drink

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