Festooned

Twas the night before Witchmass
And all through the yard,
Not a creature was stirring,
Except some retard,
Who had too much paper
And knew not what to do
But to decorate trees
For a Weenier view.
These are the days,
Or should I say “nights”
When ghosties and goblins
Give wee-ones the frights,
But for the home-owner,
It’s not “treat” but “trick”
When you wake in the morning
And feel a bit sick
To see that marauders
Have paid you a call
Festooning your landscape
And having a ball
In the name of good fun
They’d say with a grin
But if you ask me
I’d just say it’s a sin
To waste such a resource
On birches and pines
When cross the world over
People stand in long lines
To take care of business
Alone and with care
Then find that their paper
Is floating in air.