If you only whisper one word today,
let it breathe in the wind,
let it ferment in the mind
of fools and the dangerously absurd,
let it be heard and rejoiced
in silent thoughtful prayer
and let it be remembered
as it echoes across time,
across our lives,
let that word be the last thing
on our minds
from the moment we whisper
it with childlike hope in the
glare of a new born sun
and the roar of a daughter’s gift,
let the bells ring with joy
There used to be a buzz of excitement around this time of year. Away from the thought of inedible sprouts that seemed to only be placed upon the plate with frightening regularity, the Queen’s speech having to be watched because an elderly relative once saw Her Majesty dangle a gloved hand out somewhere in Weston–Super-Mare in 1965, and the usual fights that would lead to doors slamming throughout the land because someone didn’t want to enter the Christmas spirit, one thing could unite the family and be the cause of more arguments and that was who would be Christmas No. 1.