I had a New Year’s Eve party and just after midnight there was a thunderous knock on the door. No, it wasn’t a tall dark stranger bearing a lump of coal, but the next best thing, a small fair stranger bearing a log. I’d written a poem for him to recite, about the village where we live. Here it is…..
A NEW CHANCE
Day has folded in to night,
Look out upon this starry night.
Gaze out beyond the shivering moon,
The driving rain, the endless gloom
And think of thrills to come so soon.
[Yes now I'll say my little list,
Remember it although you're pissed]
A chance to sing – the village choir,
The banjo club – a joyous hour.
The Coach and Horses – ancient Inn,
Where drinking’s good, and free from sin.
A chance to sew and knit and more -
Unless you find such stuff a bore.
A chance to join the walking club
To walk for miles in sodden mud.
The gardening club, a time to chat,
Debates on slugs and all of that.
A chance to stand, or helter skelter
In brightly painted new bus shelter.
The village fete, the Christmas stall
With gaudy gifts for one and all.
St Peter’s church, a time to pray,
And hope that God might lead the way.
But meanwhile friends
Enjoy this night.
The future beckons -
AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO MY FOLLOWERS