Lazy Days Poem by Daniel Norton Smith

Lazy days are mine,
as the mist settles,
and the leaves rattle,
across someone else's lawn.

Done is the day,
the who's who,
the what is what
and whom should pay.

Now it's ashy grey
and the curtains closing;
stoke the fire, it's Christmas soon,
and then we'll all be dozing.

A big, fat, plasma, TV,
with the Queen's grey hair and pearls.
Minced pies and Christmas cake,
and dodgy sausage rolls.

Yes, lazy days in Autumn;
the best the year affords:
the crackers spent,
the wheat is ripe
and the nuts all safely stored.