Much is said of my master’s yuletide story,
for his journey was one of redemption and glory!
Yet few know of the Grinch’s true Noel pain,
which came to consume him, yet bring him to fame.
I’ve here to say, as his loyal companion,
that his heart was not always as dark as a canyon!
Before he withdrew to his mountainous lair,
the Grinch lived with others covered in green hair.
His village was, just like Whoville, filled with love.
Why, my dear Grinch’s heart was once white as a dove.
He sang in the choir such joyous Grinch tunes.
He was such a talent — he even played spoons!
Then one year, a tragedy befell his village.
On Christmas, a great roaring fire came to pillage.
Now, the Grinch loved relaxing by stoking a log,
so on Christmas Eve, caught in an eggnoggy fog,
he sat down right next to the hearth and dozed off—
and as the log blazed, the Grinch began to cough.
He coughed and he coughed and he coughed and he coughed/
He coughed so hard his verdant head near fell off!
Jolted awake by his own fits and spasms,
he saw a site that left his heart in a chasm:
The yule log had rolled from its fireplace stand,
and its flames had engulfed the Grinch’s baby grand!
In a panic, the Grinch ran outside and he yelled,
“Help me, oh, help! There’s a fire to be felled!”
Alas, the poor town was caught deep in its slumber,
as Grinches all dreamed of coming Christmas plunder.
The Grinch, worried sick, bounded right into action,
lacing up his new running shoes for good traction.
He ran around town waking neighbors and friends,
and they all ran for shelter as the town met its end.
The flames spread with speed and with red, macabre beauty;
the site of it simply ravaged the community.
An as the sun rose on that bleak Christmas Day,
’Twas the Grinch they blamed, ’twas he they cast away!
Such a terrible Christmas gift the Grinch was given—
the pardon he wished for the town would not give him.
His dairy vice proved his sweet downfall that day—
for that, he was sent to Mt. Crumpit, away!
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