In this month of time of yaar,
We drink of milk and blood-red wine,
Or honey juice and ginger baar,
And toddies laced with clementine.
The children tucked without a fjar,
A teal dove all their dreams align,
Straight as a crimson arrow spjar,
In through it's breast along a line.
I know it isn't really feer,
To rhyme "a line" there with "align",
But I'm not bothered. I don't ceer.
Just have a trippy Wallerstien!
A Wallerstien's Day, Everyone!
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