Grump-Angel's Christmas Transformation Story

Green heart finds its light,

From a grouch to angel wings,

Christmas magic blooms.

In the village of Fungi-Falls, hidden and small, The "Gift-Gulp" was starting for elves one and all. They lived in quaint houses of mushroom and spore, Which looked like a pizza from roof to the floor. They scurried with boxes and ribbons of red, While chaos was brewing high over their head.

Up by the chimneys, the air was quite thick, For the Grump was enduring a strange holiday trick. He’d stepped in a "Spirit Wash," high-pressure grade, And now, quite frankly, he felt quite betrayed. He’d planned to swap candy for pickled green beans, But now he was sprouting lime feathers and sheens.

His halo was humming a high-pitched new song, Which told him his grouching was factually wrong. "This is highly irregular!" the Grump tried to sneer, In a gravelly voice that rang melodic and clear. He tried a dark dive-bomb, a menacing swoop, But his wings took him up in a sparkling loop.

"It’s the Christmas Angel!" an elf gave a shout, As stardust came falling from the Grump's fuzzy snout. "I’m an agent of chaos!" he screamed from the sky, While Joy-Dust hit squirrels as he fluttered on by. His heart had been tiny, a pebble of stone, But now it was glowing, a light of its own.

He hovered in shadows—or tried to, at least— But his chest was a lantern for man and for beast. He saw a small toddler, quite stuck in the snow, With a box ten times larger than she’d ever know. His brain wanted laughter, his instincts were cruel, But his wings had been trained in a different school.

With a flap and a flutter, he dove for the prize, With a look of pure loathing in his yellow eyes. He dropped off the gift at the mushroom’s front door, Then landed and muttered a word he’d ignored: "Merry... Chrim-bus," he choked, with a face full of gloom, As flowers of kindness began there to bloom.

The toddler elf waved, "Thanks for helping us, Greenie!" The Grump flew away, feeling small as a genie. He realized that goodness was quite the fatigue, An angel-in-training in a whole different league. "Fine," he told the moon, as he straightened his gown, "But I’m still not singing... unless the tempo stays down."