As the days shorten, the weather turns cold,
We look forward to Christmas, the young and the old.
Some reason for cheer, to gather and play,
Presents to buy, for this special day.
The children are blind, to all of the fuss,
We keep Santa’s secret; it is only US!
Elders talk of years gone by,
Things not the same, I hear them sigh.
Where’s the log fire? Where’s the real tree?
They tell children stories of how it would be.
Nuts and an orange, were what Santa brought,
Not Toys and Games of every sort.
The children laugh with merry cheer,
They hear the same story every year.
Now I am roasting, out on the deck,
Surrounded by family, what the heck?
I was having a, well earned, rest,
I was woken by a mozzie pest.
“Christmas in England” I begin to say.
“Oh! Mum you tell us this story,
Every Christmas Day!”