It was never a time for me,

I would smile and wish the same,

that you, my friend, would

see hope in the year to come

as Christmas came round again.

I would cook the dinner,

argue about sprouts,

force one down

the throat that craved, not turkey,

dry tasteless meat that had no right

to be served upon my table,

but perhaps a sense of humility

and an early bacon sandwich

covered in brown sauce.

 

Not for me this day

but one that I would send out good wishes

in cards bought in stores,

battling the crowds of the eager and the possessed

of timely spirit. I would write out the cards and

seal them with hope of seeing

you again as the New Year Cock crowed

in the distance, happy to avoid my knife and fork,

and in time to the chimes as Midnight struck

and the heavy weight of expectation

grew in friends and loved one’

s hearts

that this year I might succumb to the day.

Not for me, though I smile,

happy as I am to know that for a day you are happy also,

and I reason with the Universe to keep you that way,

may you enjoy time spent well,

may your goose, chicken, plump, well matured

bird or potato of choice

be, well, awesome, may it remind you

of the days to come

as presents and gifts, memories with batteries,

twelve rewards and thoughts

crowd round the decorated tree and lights

stay on, though I smile

this is not for me.

 

Above all, I wish you a Happy Christmas,

I relish the fact that New Year

is on her way and that this last hurrah

of before Yule and my own Solmonath

comes into view again,

that we count down to Spring

and warmer months

here in our frozen cruel north;

Christmas is for you, may it be

Kind as it should be.

 

Ian D. Hall 2017