(no subject)
It's Christmas day, and I'm about to go off for a meal and stuff myself silly. So to keep up the Christmas spirit, here's a poem I wrote:
Every year
the naughtiest boy
in the world becomes Father Christmas.
At first he thinks only of good things, like not going to school
and
avoiding homework.
But it's a long walk to the North Pole.
As he trudges past the Arctic Circle, the only things
to eat are walrus and polar bear; so it's not surprising he puts
weight on.
And the frosty
northern wind licks at his face
until he's wearing a white beard of ice.
No, it's not easy being Father Christmas.
Presents don't appear fully-minted, but have to be
hewed
out of the mother-lode
and wrapped at night in the lonely cabin.
But
at last the
waiting is over
and he can hitch up
the reindeer and pile the sacks high.
His back is sore and his fingers frozen, though
he still has to climb down every chimney: house after house.
Then, about half-way through, he suddenly remembers what day it is and
his laughter
joins the
sleigh bells
as he flies through the winter air.
Because tomorrow, Christmas
will be over. And another boy
will be the naughtiest
boy in the world.
(c) me 2006
Every year
the naughtiest boy
in the world becomes Father Christmas.
At first he thinks only of good things, like not going to school
and
avoiding homework.
But it's a long walk to the North Pole.
As he trudges past the Arctic Circle, the only things
to eat are walrus and polar bear; so it's not surprising he puts
weight on.
And the frosty
northern wind licks at his face
until he's wearing a white beard of ice.
No, it's not easy being Father Christmas.
Presents don't appear fully-minted, but have to be
hewed
out of the mother-lode
and wrapped at night in the lonely cabin.
But
at last the
waiting is over
and he can hitch up
the reindeer and pile the sacks high.
His back is sore and his fingers frozen, though
he still has to climb down every chimney: house after house.
Then, about half-way through, he suddenly remembers what day it is and
his laughter
joins the
sleigh bells
as he flies through the winter air.
Because tomorrow, Christmas
will be over. And another boy
will be the naughtiest
boy in the world.
(c) me 2006