Father Christmas has come to live with us,
Accepting an offer of the kids’ old room,
Keen to oblige with evening sing-alongs,
Satisfy our desire for unashamed humour.
We found the old boy wandering the street,
So alone with his tales of good tidings,
Competing with all those big neon lights,
The families galloping from sale to sale.
Some might think we’ve been horribly rash,
But we’re sold on our colourful new lodger,
Our home was in such urgent need of glee,
After those lengthy states of distraction.
As long as he stays in his red and whites,
And doesn’t ever feel the urge to shave,
We’re so ready for a non-stop Christmas,
A permanent feast of heartening memories.
© Copyright, 2008. Seamus Kearney. "A Christmas Poem - a non-stop Christmas"