Counting Down to Christmas

As the world counts down through Advent,

Youngsters squeal in their delight,

Of a Christmas that is merry

Decorations shining bright.

They hear the postman knocking

And rush to ope’ the door;

Cardboard boxes keep arriving,

Mum says, they’re for her Christmas chores.

But the cards come through the letterbox,

Lovely pictures oh so pretty.

With snow scenes and red Santas,

Some nativities; some just witty.

And the tree sits in the corner,

With lights that twinkle all the day

And there’s a joyful Christmas angel

Saying that Christmas is on the way.

And as Christmas itself gets closer,

To the Eve of Christmas Day

They listen to the carols

From the church across the way.

Then leaving out their stockings,

With some sherry for Santa too,

They climb into their cosy beds,

Hoping Santa can fit down the flue!

And they dream of the sleigh that is flying,

Across the pale moon tonight

And of Rudolph who leads it onward

Through time and space in flight.

Hoping morning will bring all they asked for

But if not, then that’s all right,

For a loving family gathering

Will make up for it ’til Twelfth Night.

Photo and poem copyright Englepip©

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Little Me

My house is my home
And it goes where I roam
And as I grow big
So does it.
It’s always my size
Never too tight a fit
Though I eat and I graze
All night long.
Though it’s comfy and warm
And it keeps me from harm
I never eat in; watch TV.
So tonight I’ll eat out
While the birds not about
And I hope you won’t
Mind little me.

Poem and photo copyright Englepip©

A magical world in a fairy glen

Along the lane where we children play

Are runnels in and out the hedge

Where hidy holes and secret dens

Are hid in shadows all the day.   

There birds pick crumbs from under foot 

And feast on berries we have shook

To ground amongst our homes away from home.

We’ve  plucked up grass for a comfy floor

Where we can sit and share our store

And stories tell of dragon times 

And knights and gnomes in times of yore. 

But come the night when we are gone

The foxes creep from out their holes 

And scavenge scraps left from our feasts,

Licking up our daytime treats. 

Then the owl hoots loud and silent swoops 

Across the ditch and o’er our stoop

To our hidden, magic, elfin den

That’s deep within the glen. 

They watch enchantments all night long

Join in the dancing  and sing along

And as morning approaches they leave the feast

And the sprites fly off away from the East.

And as we are slumbering in our beds

Great tales are happening in our heads

Of creatures small and ballads sung

Of animals speaking in fairy tongue.

And tomorrow when we visit there

We’ll sense a presence in the air

And we’ll know more than any adult (wo)men

That there’s a magical world in a children’s den.

 

Idea, poem and photo copyright to Englepip©