1020 Christmas 2009 - Poem by John Knight
What can we say about Christmas Day
That hasn't aready been said
The children are up and ready to play
While their parents are still in bed!
Father Christmas has been - but hasn't been seeen
So fast does he move in his sleigh
His presenta are wrapped in red white and green
As he silently moves away.
i-Phones for the Girls and i-Pods for the Boys
And a 'Top of the Pops' DVD
Chocholates and make-up and lots of toys
And gadgets and games for the Wii.
Mother comes down in her old dressing gown
And Father apears in his vest
Granddad's asleep in his favorite chair
And Gran's in her Sunday best.
Opening presents then off to the Church
Everyone's feeling quite gay
The kids run ahead with thier folks in the lurch
On a snowy Christmas Day.
Now they're all back from Mass - to enjoy a glass
Of mulled wine while the turkey is cooking
The snow looks first class - on the trees and the grass
It fell gently while no one was looking.
The dinner's all gone and times moving on
It's nearly a quarter to three
By the time the chees and the brandy's brought on
It's the time for the Queen on TV.
The Queen tries to reach the whole World - in her speech
Commonwealth - Common Man - Common Woman
The true meaning of Christmas - to all she would preach
And the lessons of war in Afghanistan.
Everyone snoozes but Granddad still boozes
On Brandy and Tia Maria
We all join in scrabble and nobody looses
The cat hides where no one can see her!
It's a quarter to one - and Christmas Day's gone
And Mother goes round with a duster
The rest are in bed - overstreched - overfed
While Mother is still in a fluster!
Christmas Day come and Christmas day gone
So much trouble for one single day
Mum makes a resolve - this problem to solve
Next year in a Hotel - in Hawaii - we'll stay! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Comments about 1020 Christmas 2009 by John Knight
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye