When unimpressed with turkey and mince pies,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And curse fat Santa with ungrateful cries,
And look on tasteless gifts from folks I hate,
Wishing I had the riches I have not,
Futures like him, like him of funds possess'd,
Desiring this man's wife, and that man's yacht,
With what I most enjoy presented least:
Yet in these thoughts the season most despising,
Haply I dine on Spam,--and then my state
(Like to some butterfly of hope arising
From misty dusk) sings carols at God's gate;
For on sweet Spam I dine with such trimmings
That I relish Christmas joy's o'erbrimmings.