All seem hellbent on heaven. If I’m not
Reformed by darn New Year’s resolutions
I’m told it’s time for Lent. Not a darn thought
Is given to my comfort. I say the fun’s
A present in the present. Each day’s a gift
That inspires song, and to burst into song
Is also a gift. I receive such uplift
That to claim I am giving seems a wrong,
Yet I’m told to give. I’m told to give up.
Give up expense, and be always saving.
Give up wine in my runneth-over cup.
If I must give up, I’ll give up shaving,
Though if I give up my whisker’s removal
I bet I’ll give up some folk’s approval.

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