Six sorry looking taxis standing in a rank
Five days to go but
Only four small turkeys left at the butchers.
Three ducks scooting across the water, surely cold.
Two bag laden Christmas shoppers, heads bowed into the drizzle
A grey December day, never in sight of the sun
And there’s the traffic, why do they do it?
There is really only one place to be
And that is at home in front of the fire
The cards are dispatched, logs piled up by the back door
Plenty of time yet to get the big shop done,
Turkey ordered and a couple of parties to come.
The chink of glasses and the cheery sounds
Open that bottle of malt and pass it round
Mince pies smell of brandy