Merry Christmas to all who bother. Know that I appreciate even the most cursory glance.
Santy Claws 2
Several decades on,
the spirit hasn’t gone,
the season still delights,
but fewer tingly nights,
Traditions broadly the same,
thankful for that bairns name,
but Santy’s sack is noras hivvy,
the stuff inside is more plasticky,
Yer can still gan te midnight mass,
the dinner’s still doon te wor lass,
nora great time to be a turkey,
Da will be happy with his whisky.
Discussions start in November,
Who’ll we need to remember,
and who will sit doon te
dinner,
ahh we ganna invite every ard sinner?
She gets a lift to and from wor howse,
during prep sits as quiet as a mowse,
scoffs a considerable share,
then two hours snorin’ in the chair.
When the fuss is aal dun,
nee room in stomachs for the smallest bun,
we should feel happy with what we’ve achieved,
that aal the stresses have been relieved.
Aal aspects of Christmas satisfied,
at times we laughed and at others cried,
the poignancy and the warmth surround,
demonstrates that love abounds.
©David L Atkinson
December 2025
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