A Butcher's Poem
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the shop
Not a butcher was cutting, and the floor had been mopped;
The last packages, wrapped in white paper with care
Had been picked up by customers, to be cooked medium rare;
Their tables would groan from the wealth of their feast
Of turkey, and duck, and especially roast beast;
The butchers rest weary, in front of their fire
Wishing all of you a pleasant holiday, all across Richmond shire.
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