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I quit.
           I've handed in my resignation --
This job is one continual aggravation;
I'm feeling uninspired.
It's time that I retired;
I've given it, yes, due consideration.

And on this all-too warm December night
The sleigh is loaded for the final flight.
Half-finished toys are packed;
The workshop tables stacked.
For once (thank God) we're going to travel light.

Old Rudolph and the others look relieved;
(I feel the same, though I'll admit I grieved) --
I very well recall
That every year, come fall,
They'd gotten grumpy and the elves all peeved.

Each morning brings a starving polar bear;
The pools of melting snow are everywhere;
The ice floes keep on shrinking,
My workshop's started sinking,
And none of you much really seems to care.

So off we'll travel to a distant land;
I'll miss the children's letters (done by hand),
Toys built and wrapped with love,
The Northern Lights above --
But soon there won't be any place to stand.

O for those first flights, once upon a time
When to the echo of some silver chime
Into the air we flew
To soar on southward, through
A starlit sky still free from smog and grime.

Now from the sleigh we peer down through the gloom
(Our noses running from some deadly fume)
To see the trees replaced
With pits and sludge and waste
That bear a strong resemblance to Mount Doom.

And having felt for years in endless volley
The consequences of your global folly:
An Earth that's deathly sick --
This jolly old Saint Nick,
Though older now, is quite a bit less jolly.

Don't get me started, too, on my frustrations
With iPhones, DVDs, Wii's, and Playstations...
Who vetoed books and trains?
I fear for children's brains
(And, even more so, their imaginations).

I'm sick of simply bringing what I'm told;
Deliverymen are not supposed to scold.
You write the list, I trim it --
But now I've reached my limit.
Who'd give an iPod to a 4-year old?

And -- CEOs -- the workers that you hire
To make those soaring profits you admire,
For just a buck a day:
I'd think that you could pay
To stop them all from dying in a fire.

The earth's not something we can Supersize
Unlike the rest of what you advertise.
(You think your life's a bore?
That's right, go shop some more.
Don't call me when the oceans start to rise.)

And you elected reps that can't stop squawking
To drill and burn the fossil fuels you're hawking...
Perhaps you'll change your mind
When you wake up to find
A lump of coal inside your Christmas stocking.

The world should have enough to go around...
But human greed just knows no upper bound
(Nor is my sleigh expanding;
With all that you're demanding
This year, I doubt we'd get it off the ground.)

You've quite mistaken my intent, I fear.
I said: spread love and joy and Christmas cheer,
Not this mad rush of buying…
I guess I'm done with trying.
You'll have to find your own goodwill this year.

Cross-posted from For background on my Advent Canticle project, see

All Advent Canticle entries are available here: Archive of Advent Canticles

To existing readers of this blog: For various reasons, I'm now attaching brief titles (mostly first lines) to my entries. Nothing else has changed: the series is still running one per day and all the Advent Canticle entries are still available here.

Originally posted to Green Canticle on Wed Dec 12, 2012 at 06:13 AM PST.

Also republished by Indigo Kalliope, Anglican Kossacks, and Street Prophets .

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