The run up

The chief elf’s on the bucks fizz
thinking Christmas is a big swiz
and it’s Silent Night, lights out at
nine.
I wake up to the magic
and I do
I do
I do believe,
can’t wait to go to sleep
on Christmas Eve

Of course,
it’s a crime to fill kiddies heads
with thoughts of flying reindeers
and of a bearded man coming down
through the chimney, because
if he did that in Hackney
he’d be doing time in
Portsea.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.