For thirty some-odd years I've been writing sappy, sentimental Christmas poems and mailing them out in cards to everyone I know (and - in desperate years - handing them out to perfect strangers encountered in elevators). As far as I can tell, my poetical opuses thrilled no one but me (and, perhaps, my parents).

A couple of years ago my tech-employed, organic gardening, butterfly-friendly wife, Anne, spent about ten minutes coming up with the following rhyme (sung to the tune of "We Three Kings") when she discovered that a) our backyard passion vines were still leafed out at Christmas time and b) odder yet, they were still populated with ravenous Gulf Fritillary caterpillars:

We Three Caterpillars are here

To eat your vine and give you good cheer

Then so soon, we'll spin cocoons

For Winter is almost here.

Ohhh, ohhh...

Vine of wonder, vine so right!

Future butterfly's delight!

We're proceeding with our eating

'Til your vine is out of sight.

... putting my three decades of deeply thought-out intellectual toil to shame.