The make-believe December
FREE WRITE FRIDAY
inspired this nostalgia
December? That means Christmas, but the meaning, in my case,
Is coloured by the factors of a different time and place.
For more than a full third of my life December meant winter weather
And a time when all the family could gather all together.
In England, where I was living, there was rarely Christmas snow,
Only grey skies and sleety rain and icy winds that blow.
So we stayed in our cosy houses, played games and ate a lot,
And enjoyed the lovely Christmas fare, which was always piping hot.
On Christmas Day 'The Queen's Speech' was the highlight of the day,
And we'd huddle round the radio to hear what she had to say.
They weren't Christmases of fairy-tale, maybe they were mundane,
But I would give an awful lot to live one of them again.
The Queen's Speech
So does that mean I'm miserable when December comes around,
And the birds are welcoming Summer with a cheerful raucous sound?
Why, not at all! Australia is a very happy land
And having a Christmas picnic is really rather grand.
My grandchildren are Aussies, and they thrill to the season,
And family get-togethers are one particular reason.
Hot Christmases seem normal to the rest of the family;
Only Malcolm and I feel a twinge for the days that used to be.
The chicken salad is probably cold and so, of course, is the beer,
But we share with the rest of the world a time of Family and Good Cheer.
By the way,The Queen's Speech is broadcast, although snow-flakes don't glisten;
But I wonder, in this day and age, does anybody listen?
The Australian Picnic
Oh ye that are fumble-fisted!
Oh ye that can't catch a ball
Oh ye that dabble
In a little Scrabble
Or maybe nothing at all!
Oh ye that suffer embarrassment;
No-one wants you in their team!
You who're chosen last
Very much outclassed!
Ye who can only dream!
Oh ye that gird up your loins
Determined to play the game,
And who constantly miss
While others hiss!
Oh ye who are heaped with blame!
Hang on for a few brief decades!
Your day will come, you'll see;
When others moan
And howl and groan
You'll be arthritis-free!
Oh how their knees will trouble them!
Their shoulders how they'll throb!
They'll seek salvation,
But it wont do the job.
I, too, was so fumble-fisted
That I hung my head with shame.
I was the sort
Who failed at sport.
I never could play the game.
But now that I'm over eighty
And my knees are in excellent shape
I won the prize.
I had a great escape!
So hang on till you're eighty
And you too will live to see
That the last-laugh's ours!
We conserved our powers!
Lucky you! And lucky me!