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He was packed with goodness
A blown-up potatoes sack
Stuffed with his dignity
No's to himself
Self-respect flags raised high
He walked without fear
Clear conscience
Those poor fools there
Were stumbling on their id's
Not he
Jolly and laughing
Like a roll of jelly
His pain came
Only from a toothache
He was on a clear cloud of contentment
His voice was a jolly shiver
Of goodwill
It ran out Merry Xmas
To everyone
Every day of the year
Hell suffering wasn't for him
He had better things to do
Like ringing bells
And skipping in the colors of the world
And cooing with the strangers
He was just a clean cut
Without complications
Of the good Lord
The sun was out
And the air was autumn
So indeed why not whistle
And laugh
At all the motherfuckers
Who were messing up their lives.

Irwin R. Shaw - November 4th 1982