Here are the poems received during December…
I’m a Christmas tree fairy
I’m a Christmas tree fairy,
I appear for two weeks a year.
I’m waiting with anticipation
Now Christmastide is near.
For months I lie in the loft,
Alone in the dark and dejected.
Packed away in a plastic box
So from mice I am protected.
This is my fortieth Christmas
My dress is beginning to fade.
My tinsel is losing its glitter,
A long time ago I was made.
I’ve witnessed many a Christmas,
As I’ve perched on top of my tree.
Decorations have long been discarded,
But the fairy is still little me.
The children who once really loved me
Are now grown and live far away.
I hope that they’ll come back to see me,
As I shine on my most special day.
I’ve heard you can now buy new fairies,
Dressed in satin with tinsel of gold.
While me, I have lost all my lustre
And just feel shabby and old .
The moment has come I am ready.
I’m taken from out of my rest.
My clothes are stripped away from me.
In silk and fine lace I am dressed.
My wings are threaded with glitter.
A diamond is sewn in my hair.
The tree is all ready and waiting
and I’m put on the top with great care.
So this on my fortieth Christmas,
I know there will be many more.
My children have brought their own children.
I no longer feel faded and poor.
In time I will be taken with them,
To sit on their own Christmas Tree.
And the memories they’ll cherish of Christmas,
Will each year be triggered by me.
– V. Mighall
My favourite thing….
My favourite thing about Christmas Day
Is after lunch when we start to play.
All the silly games and the toys,
All the festive fun and the noise.
My favourite thing about Christmas Day…
Family time, come what may.
My other favourite thing…
My favourite thing under the tree
Is the gift from my Grandma to me.
It’s always small and never too posh,
A parcel of thought and oh my gosh,
She wraps her love with a gold bow,
Which tells me all I need to know.
– Ella F.
The fairy on top of my Christmas tree
Arrived in 1993,
Proudly carried home from Crowhurst playschool,
Paper doily wings and a ping pong ball.
A dash of gold-tinsel spikes on its head,
Not so much a halo but a punk instead.
Now it is a bit tatty around the edges,
Dragged backwards through all of those December hedges.
Every year, a minor repair,
A scrap of Sellotape here and there,
Delicate handling and delicate surgery
Before it can climb to the top of the tree.
It looks down on us every single year,
A fairy eye on the festive cheer,
It has watched over presents and family fun,
Heard all the laughter and all the songs sung.
And to be honest, it would be no surprise,
If now I learnt it had eaten all the missing mince pies!
– C. King
There’s a box underneath the Christmas tree.
It’s calling, calling, calling to me.
It’s rather an impressive size,
Is it going to be a fab surprise?
I’ve been waiting and waiting all the year
Wondering if Father Christmas could hear.
Is it the toy that I long for?
A funny feathery robot for sure.
Unwrap my little Chuckle Duck,
Just what I wanted, so much luck.
It walks and quacks all on its own,
Finds its way around our home.
Who could think there’d be such glee
For my little feathered friend and me.
– Ella F.
The seasonal story is so gregarious.
I wonder if I’m the only one,
Friends and family dispersed,
Social circle, around none.
In TV land, everyone happy,
I cannot relate.
Heightened pressure at this time,
I sit and wait.
Pressure for jollity,
To sing and have fun.
My world is quite small,
Am I the only one?
The marketing tells us
It’s all joy and cheer.
I sit on my own,
Snowball and beer.
I think I can cope,
But this particular day,
I fear for my hope.
Look left and right,
Your neighbours at home.
Doublecheck the narrative,
Who is alone?
– M. Fish
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