A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS by Fred McIlmoyle
West Coast Eisteddfod Online Poetry Competition 2017
Autumn mists have come and gone,
Peat bogs begins to film with frost.
Dark turf, wind-dried, now carted home
Will glow on country kitchen hobs.
...
The poignant smell of burning peat
Clings like a mantle round the town.
I close my eyes and wish like mad
That feathery flakes come floating down.
...
I’m nine and recognise the signs
That Christmas now is on its way,
Then dash down to the bottom barn
To see if I can find my sleigh.
...
I crack frozen puddles with my toe,
Trace sunken prints of passing sheep.
In the fairy thorn white mistletoe
Twines where red-breasted robins cheep.
...
A curlew calls across the moor,
Its wistful cry drifts through the whins.
Red-berried holly edged with hoar
Is hung in contrition for mankind’s sins
...
Carol singers trudge down our lane
Pure voices raised in ‘Silent Night’
As drifting snowflakes in silken skeins
Form mystic dreams in the lantern light.
...
Soon stocking hung on chimney breast
Will await the visit of Santa Claus
but tomorrow I’ll get out my sleigh
And whiz past hedges hung with haws.
...
Shooting stars streak the inky sky
Bringing gasps of awe at their curious beams,
Recalling the Wise Men’s arduous trek
When seeking the infant born to redeem.
...
updated by @fred-mcilmoyle: 10/16/17 11:38:56PM
