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Old Fashioned Christmas


The logs are burning on an open fire,
With a gentle crackling jingle,
The coal beneath the golden flames,
Amongst the ashes mingle.

The stockings are hung up on the mantle place,
Each empty in anticipation,
For Christmas Eve when Santa stops,
Like a train pulling into a station.

The tinsel wrapped around the tree,
Conceals each and every light,
They form a train track around the branches,
And lead up to the star that is shining bright.

The baubles hang in elegance,
Each one so carefully placed,
Gold, then Silver, repetitively,
Each one trying to win the race.

Outside the house is rather chilly,
There's a frost within the air,
Children wear mittens on their hands,
And hats to protect their hair.

Holly trees are all around,
Sledge marks are imprinted in the snow,
Laughter is clear for all to hear,
Each pair of cheeks have a glow.

On the door there is a wreath,
With berries that surround a candle,
A welcome mat lays at the foot of the door,
That has a cold and frozen handle.

So come inside and take off your shoes,
The house is warm and snug,
I'll make you some hot cocoa,
To drink from your favourite mug.

Vicki Wroe, 26 (C)






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