Our Father calls us outside,
To see the tree he cut with pride.
A nasal clearing pine,
Symmetrical proud and fine.
And our family complete,
Helped decorate the baubles,
Random,spontaneous and surprisingly neat,
Exotic colours, Indigo, Turquoise and Purples.
Come Christmas Eve,
The aroma of tomorrow's ham.
Through the house does Waft and Weave
Eager thoughts of turkey and cranberry jam.
Mother's rosy cheeks highlight,
The pride in her bright blue eyes,
The background strains of Silent Night,
Perfectly accompanies delicious mince pies.
Feet crunching snow en route to Midnight Mass,
Even at this late hour,old and feeble we do pass.
Playing hopscotch in footprints before our eyes,
Hoping one day my shoe will be that size.
And as the pub empties,the Church fills up,
Combination of incence and whiskey sup,
Our priest loudly rouses the congregation,
Barstool preachers from the rear voice their indignation.
Later,much later, when all went to sleep.
I opened the door and down the hall i did creep.
To gaze at the lights in a hypnotic stare.
Tinsel glistening in our room,peaceful as prayer,
Then as we snuggle up in our cosy beds,
We think we hear a scraping hoof,
And jingling bells resonate in our heads,
Through the attic on the roof.
And on Christmas Day our cups overflowed,,
We were so happy luck and glad,
Though we seemed to receive more gifts than Mam and Dad,
This i could never perceive,and it subtly mad me sad.
But lest we forget Christmas real birth,
When we wake up this Holy Morn,
The genesis of our children's mirth,
Not long ago,The Prince of Peace was born.