I’m not a poet by any stretch of the imagination, but a Christmas poem for you nonetheless…
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the burbs,
Not a creature, not even, the plot bunnies* stirred.
A writer tried hard, to summon her muse,
Distracted by red, green and gold, coloured hues.
Wrap presents and stack them, under the tree so tight,
Hang stockings and stuff turkeys, there’s no time to write.
The gift of books for my mum, for husband and sister too,
But three for my daughter, not one and not two.
Pen and paper that is always, right there by my side,
Untouched, left neglected, throughout the Yule Tide.
The word count is stalled, as Old St Nick does prepare,
No prose as I cook pudding, ham, prawns and festive ware.
Child and husband swim, play, fish and run all about,
Perhaps I should read, that counts as research no doubt.
Surrounded by family, catching up with old friends,
It’s okay to wait until, there’s time to write ‘the end’.
So I say to my friends, those who read, those who write,
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night.
Merry Christmas everyone. Stay safe, relax, love those close to you.
*plot bunnies = those little plot ideas that breed in a writer’s mind and multiply out of control