It seemed too soon, on January third,
To take down her most gorgeous Christmas tree,
And so she left it up, but gave her word
That ere the month was over it would be
Back in its box. Weeks passed, and months did, too.
Then one spring night, when she had come home late
From revels in the warmer weather -- true,
I swear it! -- she did trip and seal her fate.
The string of lights glowed red and wrapped around
Her limbs to hold her fast, as ornaments
Flew at her face and shattered! She lay, bound
And lacerated in a most intense
And gory crime scene after weeks had passed.
Was it an accident? Revenge at last?