Twas the night before New Year and all through the land, No glasses were empty, no noshes unplanned. The mistletoe hung under doorways in clusters Completely ignored due to long filibusters. Folks whispered and tittered They blistered and dithered, All trying to force their opponents to wither. These twisters of words, these sisters of shadow, Their blustery blows, have me thinking of Maddow. The night almost over, the cat cleaned her whiskers, And finished the dregs from the host’s brandy snifter. She loudly exclaimed as she stalked out of sight, “The year has begun with no break from the fight.”
Monica lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and two foster dogs. She taught parents how to raise their toddlers for twenty-five years before retiring in 2015 to write. The secret to toddlers is to make sure you get enough sleep. Monica hasn't found the secret to writing, yet, but is diligently working at it. See links to her on-line stories on the publications page.
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