Has the dreadful Christmas poem been mentioned over here yet? I think the OP wrote it, but now most of the posts are telling her it's really bad, she's pretending her kid wrote it, and as we all know, creative kids can't be criticised. (Try saying that after a pint of mulled wine
)
Anyway, here it is in full, for your delectation:
What Christmas means to me.
“Are you all set for Christmas?” we hear,
A question that always strikes fear.
No, the Elf is not on the shelf,
Nor have I ordered the turkey or beer,
The cards haven't been sent,
On presents, not a penny spent!
However, when December rolls around,
I will only be found,
Knee deep in glitter,
With tinsel up to my ears.
To me, this is what Christmas has always been.
Then carol singing and school plays,
And itchy Christmas jumper days,
Indulgent food and mulled wine,
Praying Amazon arrives on time!
Work dos with uncomfortable shoes,
Drinking plenty of ….juice.
Time with family and friends, and festive fun.
Isn't it the same for everyone?
Decoration and dessert preparation,
Advent Calendar anticipation,
The whole house now smells like a cinnamon roll…
How long is left to go?
At last, the big day arrives and Santa has been,
The living room carpet can no longer be seen,
Under plastic, cardboard, wrapping and more,
“Next year…we are NOT going overboard!”
Home Alone on the box and novelty socks,
Too many treats, turkey sleeps, The King's Speech!
Then Pringles…on repeat.
This is what Christmas means to me…
Me…me..
So blinded by the Christmas lights,
Shopping and food delights,
So wrapped up in preparing gifts,
Entertaining and Santa visits,
That I couldn't even stop and bother
To look and see,
What the season brings for others.
Me...How blind I've been.
For both far and near,
Some will not be feeling such festive cheer.
There's a world we cannot know,
Far away from ours,
Where ashes fall like snow,
And missiles obscure the stars.
These lives have become undone,
Where's the joy? Where's the fun?
Displaced from where they once called home.
“Mummy, how will Santa know where to come?”
There’s local children, who know Santa only as fable,
Told “He'll bring what he is able”,
Who will have to queue for a seat at a Christmas table.
The family on the nice side of the street,
Wanting for nothing with the world at their feet,
Who'd now trade all their Christmas wishes,
For a day with Daddy whose death was 'not suspicious'.
A neighbour over the fence,
Responds to friendly banter,
But wears sunglasses in winter,
A raised glass will mean dire consequence.
And wee Granny, who once made Christmas lunch for all,
Her family now hung on the wall,
Of whose names she can't recall.
“We'll take her out for the day”, they say.
...And the bells are ringing out for Christmas Day.
what's with the hair? Just lift your phone higher if you want to cover your face
And that’s no shade to ex-Polys because I think things have changed a lot since then (nearly 25 years ago); I just honestly didn’t have much of a clue about different universities and courses having very different levels of prestige, beyond the obvious big hitters. My parents couldn’t help me because they didn’t have a clue. I did everything myself.
