And so this is Christmas
And, though I’ll still cry
When the boy and the snowman
Hold hands in the sky,
And my stomach of bees
Will forever take flight
fall on your knees
Part of Oh Holy Night,
And I might make a wish
When the tree stands in place
As the lights warm the room
And the chill from your face,
And my heart may resound
When the Grinch becomes sure
That the Christmas he’s found
Doesn’t come from a store,
And, although I’ll feel blessed
And directly addressed,
When the Mersey dock horns
Send their seasonal best,
There’s something inside me
That doesn’t quite fit,
Like the elf on the shelf
Who won’t quietly sit;
Like the quip, off the cuff,
From the pantomime stage
That grants us the truth
Of an unlikely sage.
But, don’t get me wrong:
With the scent of the cloves
And the cinnamon sticks
Mulling wine on the stoves,
And the crackling log fire
Thawing hands from the cold,
Of the twelve drummers drumming,
Christ, I’m almost sold.
But I just get a feeling
That stutters my stride:
Is there no imperfection
December can’t hide?
And once the snow settles,
Can punters relax
While a timely white throw
Papers over the cracks?
And when Lennon asks me,
And, what have you done
Is it goodwill to all,
Or just goodwill to some?
Is it tidings of comfort
And peace upon Earth
(For the ones in the draw
Who got lucky at birth)?
And if we should drift
From each other, my friend,
As the days sail on by,
Should I spend to amend?
And what to tell folk
Who don’t wish to partake
Just pretend til the end
Since my cheer is at stake?
But, maybe tonight,
Under mistletoe blooms,
I could reach up and bottle
That glow until June,
And save some for August
When bells seldom chime,
Or a wet night in Stoke,
Irrespective of time.
And I know that a star,
Will remain in the East
Where it shines month on month
For a lifetime at least.
So, I’ll belt out the chorus
Of Robert Burns finest
And plan for this year
Not to ration my kindness;
To give second chances,
For any old reason,
And room at the inn
‘Cause it’s always the season.
And when we need angels
Then, hark, I’ll believe
They’re around for the distance
Not just Christmas Eve.

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