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The clouds are playing tug-o-war

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The high tree limbs are keeping score

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Too early to rise too late to snore

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More horizontal horizon spotting in store.

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To see this poem in storybook #STELLER form, click here.


On the shortest day of the year
The sun takes an extra long lunch,
So long it doesn’t end until
Almost the next day’s brunch.

Head lights and night lights get lots of action
The day of the year that’s shortest.
While that day more than any other is for
golf clubs and lawn mowers the boredest.

It seems like it should be relaxing and yet
There’s always so much around you,
On the year’s shortest day, falling as it does,
Right about when the holidays do.

Still songs like “Oh, What a Night” or “Thank
the Lord for the Nighttime” spread cheer,
Of how happy folks get after early sunset
On the shortest day of the year.


Among everything else it is, the shortest day of the year is half a calendar away from its cousin the longest day of the year.