When the wind from the north

        Blows and howls at my door;
When Dad brings more wood

       And the fire starts to roar . . .

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When the days become short,

      The nights become long 
And the teacher is teaching

      A new Christmas song . . .

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When the school Christmas concert

     Seems not far away,
And I’m Joseph once more

      In the school's Christmas play . .

When Mum makes the pudding

       And we all have a stir
And when Dad then arrives

      With a wonderful fir . . . 

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When we make Christmas cards

       And take them to post,
It’s the time of the year

      That we children like most.

There’s a man wrapping gifts

     And preparing his sleigh 
And he, too, knows it’s not long

      Until Christmas day. 

 

Copyright on all my poems

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