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Your Favourite Poem

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Bobby can't be Leicester
I'm starting to fester
If this happens again
His entire family will be slain
Just kidding
 
A Christmas Prayer
(From the Trenches)by Cyril Winterbotham

Not yet for us may Christmas bring
Good-will to men, and peace;
In our dark sky no angels sing,
Not yet the great release
For men, when war shall cease.

So must the guns our carols make,
Our gifts must bullets be,
For us no Christmas bells shall wake;
These ruined homes shall see
No Christmas revelry.

In hardened hearts we fain would greet
The Babe at Christmas born,
But lo, He comes with pierced feet,
Wearing a crown of thorn,-
His side a spear has torn.

For tired eyes are all too dim,
Our hearts too full of pain,
Our ears too deaf to hear the hymn
Which angels sing in vain,
"The Christ is born again."

O Jesus, pitiful, draw near,
That even we may see
The Little Child who knew not fear;
Thus would we picture Thee
Unmarred by agony.

O'er death and pain triumphant yet
Bid Thou Thy harpers play,
That we may hear them, and forget
Sorrow and all dismay,
And welcome Thee to stay
With us on Christmas Day.
 
The Squirrel by Mr Barry Heroin

Ocht how the fair mountains glow see,
Over the waters of the River Dee.
But thou mountains are in Wales is true,
So is our land English or of Glyndwr?
I spy a woodland creature at hand,
Truly he is reflective of our land.
With his fair red fur as a summer sky,
He stores his nuts in a manner that's wry.
Along comes a baghead with intent,
And crushes the creature without repent.
Collects the creature he's mistook for a mouse,
Jacks a needle in his arm and robs a house.
Tries to sell the creature for a bag of brown,
To his mother who roams Corpy Road in an Oxfam gown,
Rest at peace dear creature I shall call you a squirrel,
It was not thou fault to be born on the Wirral.
 

The Squirrel by Mr Barry Heroin

Ocht how the fair mountains glow see,
Over the waters of the River Dee.
But thou mountains are in Wales is true,
So is our land English or of Glyndwr?
I spy a woodland creature at hand,
Truly he is reflective of our land.
With his fair red fur as a summer sky,
He stores his nuts in a manner that's wry.
Along comes a baghead with intent,
And crushes the creature without repent.
Collects the creature he's mistook for a mouse,
Jacks a needle in his arm and robs a house.
Tries to sell the creature for a bag of brown,
To his mother who roams Corpy Road in an Oxfam gown,
Rest at peace dear creature I shall call you a squirrel,
It was not thou fault to be born on the Wirral.
Moving, but you missed gathering nuts in May.
 

The Squirrel by Mr Barry Heroin

Ocht how the fair mountains glow see,
Over the waters of the River Dee.
But thou mountains are in Wales is true,
So is our land English or of Glyndwr?
I spy a woodland creature at hand,
Truly he is reflective of our land.
With his fair red fur as a summer sky,
He stores his nuts in a manner that's wry.
Along comes a baghead with intent,
And crushes the creature without repent.
Collects the creature he's mistook for a mouse,
Jacks a needle in his arm and robs a house.
Tries to sell the creature for a bag of brown,
To his mother who roams Corpy Road in an Oxfam gown,
Rest at peace dear creature I shall call you a squirrel,
It was not thou fault to be born on the Wirral.


Get out ya tit.
 
Spellbound by Emily Jane Bronte

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow.
And the storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing drear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.
 
Even though the kids are in their mid and late teens we still read this together on Christmas Eve, and have done so every year. Always a special part of Christmas:

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
 
Even though the kids are in their mid and late teens we still read this together on Christmas Eve, and have done so every year. Always a special part of Christmas:

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

Ha ya beat me to it Esk. I was going to post this on Christmas eve and we too read it before the kids go to bed (my lad is 15 but still loves it ) . Cheers.
 
Ha ya beat me to it Esk. I was going to post this on Christmas eve and we too read it before the kids go to bed (my lad is 15 but still loves it ) . Cheers.

Sorry mate ;)

Someone bought a fantastic book for my daughter's first Christmas, beautifully illustrated with lots of windows to open and sliding pictures etc. Around bedtime we all go into one of the kid's bedrooms and sit on the bed and read it. Magical monents :)
 

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