Yeah, we have all heard that one. I vote for yes, because whenever I have been around to see it, the tree always makes a sound. In fact, it makes a lot of sound. Enough sound, as it turns out, that I will run like a gazelle whilst screaming that the end of the world is coming.
Which, by the way, it isn't.
My personal theory on the Mayan calendar is that they didn't actually think that the world was going to end, they just got bored of making calenders, so they ended it just to freak us all out.
Hey, all you idiots that believe it, the joke is on you: courtesy of the Mayans. Good old practical jokes.
On the good side of things, or at least the normal side, it's almost Christmas! And to celebrate, right here, I am going to proceed to write a small poem. Note - it is genuinely my spontaneous poem, so don't expect anything too stunning or brilliant, and forgive my rhythmic or contextual errors.
The skies light up in glorious wonder,
The star leads wise men to the place,
Where God came down to earth as man,
that for us he'd face the grave.
In a stable Christ was born
in a manger was he laid,
clothed in swaddling rags and garments,
near the people he had made.
As a man, yet fully God,
Christ was born in humble state,
Shepards bow unto this baby,
on that wondrous, sacred day.
Now with greetings tell the world,
goodwill, salvation we proclaim,
I wish you all a Merry Christmas,
And a happy holiday!
From your friend,
Matt Wolfe
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