Carols then filled a Fifty's house
From out of a brown bakelite box
Perched upon a disused aspidestra stand.
A smokey coal fire burns hot,
Brings bright yellow and red flickers
To flash light up our room.
Mother sits beside me on the floor
The cooking done by half past four,
And it'll soon be my time for bed
So we lick the last pre-glued paper strips
And daisy chain them, alternate colours
Long enough to fit from wall to wall.
Go to sleep dreaming I would get
All the gifts on my overlong list.
A trip to Selfridges' Santa's grotto
Queuing to sit upon the knee
Of a smelly red dressed imposter
Who asked if I had been a good boy?
Putting the glass of pale brown sherry
Alongside a mince pie by the fireplace,
And feeling that tummy tumbling tingle
Of childhood's innocent anticipation.
Feeling the delight of waking to see
The latest colourful Beano Annual,
A toy car and a cuddly toy or three
Simple pleasures lost in the silent sounds
Of the ticking clock of Time.

© Griffonner 2025