After my morning walk with the dog, which the cold and wind had made quite a slog, I saw eight bags under the tree in my yard, through my mind’s morning fog. Each bag had a tag, what a sight I shan’t brag, but overnight, it appeared, Santa’d visited this stag. I looked at one tag ‘fore I tore in to the bag. What I saw would have stunned all my relation. I looked at my dog and exclaimed, “tarnation!” You see, each bag had a tag, and they said “For donation.” “Boy, to get through this, I’ll need a libation.” I ran to the house just as fast as a mare, rifled through my drawers and wanted to swear. “Where are all my old clothes?” I thought with despair. Then it dawned on me as my drink I did pour; I’d seen a man with bags the night before. Not Santa, but like him this man was portly I’d tried so hard to act covertly. I cursed myself and then I swore, “The man with the bags was me,”  I said curtly. . . . Each bag had a tag, and they said “For donation.” These gifts will help…Continue reading “Each bag had a tag”