A Christmas Poem

A Christmas Poem

Christmas is a coming
I'll be getting fatter
But at this time of year
It really doesn’t matter

The turkey’ll be stuffed
With lovely sausagemeat
The table will be dressed
Looking good and really neat

I’ll be making roast potatoes
And also pigs in a blanket
The food will be aplenty
Rather like a banquet

There’ll be sprouts on our plate
After which we’ll be trumping
We’ll stuff our belly way too much
And end up like a dumpling

To finish we’ll have sweet
Of Christmas pud and custard
By now we’ll be feeling stuffed
Our trousers almost busted

After dinner we’ll sing carols
Squealing like a crazy cat
We’ll pull a Christmas cracker
Then wear a silly hat

We’ll tell pathetic jokes
And laugh like cackling hens
We’ll be pulling stupid faces
Down the camera lens

The beer and wine will flow
The eggnog’ll make an appearance
In time we’ll start to slur our words
Slowly becoming incoherent

Then off to bed we’ll go
To dream a happy dream
Of waking up tomorrow
For more Christmas pud and Cream!

©Bev Haigh