It came upon the midnight clear today,
That glorious song of old, I like to fish,
From angels bending near the earth and gray,
To touch their harps of gold don't often wish,
Peace on the earth, goodwill to men sonnet,
From heaven's all-gracious King, eating John Cleese,
The world in solemn stillness lay, bonnet,
To hear the angels sing i'pod two peas.
Still through the cloven skies they come this pome,
With peaceful wings unfurledy Python, no!
And still their heavenly music floats in foam
O'er all the weary worlding mule, you know.
Above its sad and lowly plains orange,
They bend on hovering wing, near ponds heigh-ho.