A blabbering landloper runs a natal bargain,
In the land where recent flurries quenched the mid-day sun
The blizzard leaves the ground chilly and frozen-white, and the people bedeviled.
The rambler quaffs flask-ed bubbly fine wine with kith and kin to celebrate the deal.
On the return trip up in the sky, he is double-masked through gate fourteen.
His untroubled mind wrestles him into a tin-can which he calls flying-canteen.
Use it, they say, to howler at the wifey.
The Airmiles gives him an hour of free Wi-Fi.
The enplaning air hostess explains other things on the fly.
Please keep it moving; then, a passenger brushes past with a sigh.
Back home is his wife, and he misses her in many ways.
Bleep awaits us all for a roll in the hay.
Shh! You silly birdbrain.
Did you find a good bargain?
He feels lugging heavy bags is such a doozy.
This roaming passenger is sure is crazy.
The lazy one plays with words; cruises through the sky as hazy.
He'd rather be home where it is cozy.
He is dreaming of his baby.
Stuck in economy class,
She plays with his bald head and kisses it a good night.
Wakey-wakey, Yes! Yes! I am back.
Home sweet home.
Warmer weather for lesser angels again to roam.
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