Russel Price: ‘The Night I Met Father Christmas’

Stockport poet Russel Price has penned a new poem to celebrate the night he met Father Christmas!

Excuse me, who are you? 
Although not wanting to appear rude,
but seriously i am a little perplexed,
and don’t like your attitude.

Three a.m one’s front room, 
soot on the carpet you really need to go,
although in return all I get,
is simply ho, ho, ho.

Me comfortably sleeping, 
a warm cosy bed,
until disturbed by you,
in that coat of red.

And oh stop that banging, 
what’s upon my roof?
Sounds like a herd of horses,
honestly that’s the truth.

Suddenly something happened, 
becalmed all seemed well,
was he a magician,
now embroiled in his evil spell.

Then a sense of happiness, 
instantly overcame me,
when he smiled through white beard and pointed,
at our family’s festive tree.

See those elves make all the gifts, 
and miss fairy atop so important you see,
she’s what you humans these days call head of administration,
making sure presents get to children now and throughout history.

Although sorry I must be on my way, 
but your question I’ll ask so sincere,
the noise on those was Rudolph,
and his pals, impatient reindeers.

Because they know it’s Christmas Eve,
so much work limited time must get away,
but thank you for those carrots,
hmm tot of whiskey, sorry I am about to drive a sleigh.

Then all too soon he was gone, 
confused but did just simply disappear,
although on opening the front door to a snowy vista,
I heard, season’s greetings, I’ll return again next year!

Image: courtesy of Pixabay: https://pixabay.com/users/jcoope12-17392968/