CHRISTMAS ROUND

                                                by                            

                                     Vic o'Bradford

 

           

             I am a young child, only two;

             When Christmas comes it's all so new;

             Bright lights upon the prickly tree    

             And jingling bells, it means to me.

 

            

              Just six years old and learning fast;

             Good Santa Claus is here at last.

             This is a loving, wondrous time;

             With Gran, I see the Pantomime.

 

           

               My Christmas present, now I'm nine,

             A shiny bike; two wheels; it's mine.

             My mum and dad I'd had to goad -

             They worry when I'm on the road.

 

            

              I've reached sixteen; I'm not a boy.

             Cash gift is better than a toy.

             I have a girl now - Heaven's above -

             This Christmastide I fell in love.

 

            

              It's later now; I'm twenty five.

             We have a child, so much alive;

             A baby son, but have no fear

             The Christmas tree is his this year.

 

           

               At thirty five, mid-way is near.

             We dread the day when Yuletide's here: 

             Our young son craves a bike to ride -

             Our worries we just can't abide.

 

           

               It's later still, the years pass by;

             The middle fifties, how they fly.

             Our Christmas gift this year?  Sublime:

             A grandson! - Plan for Pantomime! 

 

            

              

               Now pipe and slippers, pint of beer,

             The sixties bring their own good cheer.

             Our brood is scattered far and wide;

             The Christmas gifts we needn't hide. 

 

            

              And so I move to seventies grace;

             It's Christmas and it's time to face

             How fading mem'ry often tells -

             A long time since my jingling bells.

 

            

              Should eighties perchance come my way,

             Another Christmas?  Who can say?

             I've loved my time - answered my call -

             And so it matters not at all.                       

                                 

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