A stroll, a glance, a little nod.
Reciprocated from, I think, it’s Bob.
A wave, a pass, a hand outstretched.
A reach, a miss, oh what a mess.
A head held low. Shoulders high.
Don’t stop. Don’t turn. It’s not that guy.
A stroll, a glance, a little nod.
Reciprocated from, I think, it’s Bob.
A wave, a pass, a hand outstretched.
A reach, a miss, oh what a mess.
A head held low. Shoulders high.
Don’t stop. Don’t turn. It’s not that guy.
There’s no milk in the office kitchen.
The tea drinkers are scratching at the walls.
Some have tried adding tip-ex to their brews.
Others are trying to milk each other.
A wiry woman boils the kettle, empties it and boils it again.
The salesman in the corner gnaws a teabag like a cowboy chews tobacco.
The drinker of black coffee strokes his beard, sips and smiles.
Where’s my Xmas spirit?
I’ve looked, have you seen it?
No bells, no snow,
no mistletoe.
No carols or singing,
not even a stocking.
My bones without cheer
and for this time of year
it just isn’t right,
for when I look out at night
and see the twinkle of lights
and trees with their tinsels
It makes me wish I will
wake up the next day
feeling merry and gay,
with mince pie in my hand
and a great marching band
playing yule tide tunes
whilst kids play with balloons.
Until then I’ll keep looking
for that magical feeling.
The wonder of christmas
and a big figgy pudding.
(Yeah, I sort of lost my way with this but you’ll let me off coz it’s almost Christmas… right?)
