“A Carol of Harvest, for 2019”
-by Banana (borrowed from Walt Whitman without consent..)

A SONG of the Green Dress past!
A song no more of the city streets;
A song anew - a song of the Harvest Moon.

A song with the smell of sun-kissed ales, where the nimble bitches befix pumpkin spice;
A song tasting of wheat beer, and of fresh-hop’d maple.

For the wankers, and for the passionate wankettes, and for myself,
Now we all return to thee, O moon of harvest glow,
Displaying our buttocks, giving ourselves to thee,
Answering the pulses of our lewd and drunken hearts,
Turning a verse for thee.

O Beer, that hast no voice, confide in me a voice!
O leaves of Autumn winds! O boundless fruits and gourds!
O decadent souls of Carytown! O passersby with perfect teeth!
We don our orange dresses for thee.

Ever upon this stage,
Is acted Gispert’s annual drama,
Gorgeous processions, songs of halfminds,
Moonlight, that fullest feeds and freshens most the soul,
The gleaming James, the waves upon the shore, the musical, strong waves,
The woods, the slender trees, and the cheery, beery Hashers, filled with glee.

ORANGE DRESS