Tree topped, these fairy lights above?
My gift lies under angel wings;
has he forgotten last year’s wrap -
another Father Christmas scarf?
This pantomime, brief fantasy,
until repacked in Attic box,
where gods aplenty, pantheon,
but out of sight, next year enough?
An Eve, packed inn, those late night drinks;
sheep, woolly jumpers in the fields,
until I float off, hosts perchance,
a stable sleep, present unwrapped.
Day guests arrive with yet more gifts -
those foreign neighbours - Middle East -
but I must entertain the kids,
pretend, Ho Ho, not what I am.
This rollercoaster, give and take -
soon think on Easter, hot cross buns -
last year I saw them cheap - you know -
reduced, just like that scarf, I fear.
But if you will, pay the full price -
our story shows so few would know;
keep clear, I say, Easter parade -
a gain, the gift, still needs unwrapped.
Published by Sweetycat Press, 20th November 2022