Trudging slowly through the snow;
ice and sludge like a blanket throw.
An array of footprints on my path
and oh I wonder where they all go.
I see a robin redbreast in a tree,
an elderly couple hand in hand pass me –
are they going to church? Probably.
That’s the tradition on Christmas Eve.
I sit at home and watch Christmas films
whilst Wilma and Peter sing Christmas hymns
but everyone is entitled to do their own thing
the night before Christmas morning.
I’ll lounge in my pyjamas in front of the TV
with a packet of biscuits and a cup of tea;
I’ll go to bed late and I’ll get up early
and spend the day with my dear family.
It’s the little things that mean the most.
FIND ME ON: