A poem by John Cotton
Sunday with six whole days to go,
How we’ll endure it I don’t know!
Monday the goodies are in the making,
Spice smells of pudding and mince pies a-baking.
Tuesday, dad’s home late and quiet as a mouse
He smuggles packages into the house.
Wednesday’s the day for decorating the tree.
Will the lights work again? We’ll have to see!
Thursday’s for last minute shopping and hurry,
We’ve never seen mum in quite such a flurry!
Friday is Christmas Eve when we’ll lie awake
Trying to sleep before the day break.
And that special quiet of Christmas morn
When out there somewhere Christ was born.