Leaving again like we always do,
Two more airports to drag luggage
through.
It might be tiresome, but to stay would
be wrong.
It's easier just to go along.
Twelve more hours to go see the sun and
my mom.
Almost a year is just over too long,
Though after two weeks, it may feel
barely enough.
Still, family's tame-ish–it's the
packing that's rough.
It's not that I don't love my
grandfolks at all.
I'd just rather see them in summer, is
all.
White Christmas wastes the winter when
it comes at the beach,
At the price of skin sun-seared and
eyeballs sun-bleaced.
I was stoked just for packing. Last
night, I didn't sleep.
To my backside with all of the snow and
the sleet,
Which, for feasting and family, I know
leave behind.
To the whole Christmas Spirit my
brother seems blind.
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