It was the night before the night before the day that we were waiting for,
lots more time to sit and wonder what it was that Santa had hid under his belt,
anyway the day would come and we’d get up to have that fun and dad would say,
ooh how nice, dark rum,
even though when he’d go out we’d have a tot or two,
that’s what children do or what we did.
And all of a sudden,
turkey, stuffing and Christmas Pudding
mince pies and cream
trifle’s the trifle a
dream that I rifle through now
and again when it’s the night before or
somewhere around then.
© 2016, John Smallshaw.