Will my poet arrive in time for Christmas?

I posted him early,

did I post him too late?

He only just fit in the postbox,

there to await his fate;

so many strikes,

and some post delayed,

there may be many poets

awaiting collection, all dismayed

that they might not be there

Christmas morn,

when presents are opened up,

and the poets’ words are born;


‘It was Christmas Day in the morning,

and the presents had all been found,

the snow still fell,

but all was well,

for love was all around.’

And on they went…

… until the batteries ran down –

and everyone was happy.


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