There is an old geezer called Claus
with a snowy white beard on his jaws.
It's a beard made of snow
and it's dignified, though
it reveals his war wound when it thaws.

Christmas is a time of year
when I get sentimental,
shedding a reminiscent tear
and feeling warm and gentle.
It's not till early February
that I get back to normal:
moping like a miserable git
and annoying the crap out of people.

On Christmas day at strike of three,
before the Great Escape,
the Queen's address on BBC
is broadcast from a tape,
but Queenie doesn't make much sense
(it's really not her fault)
and yonder looms the barbed-wire fence
McQueen nor Queen can vault.

A fellow called Old Father Time
come Hogmanay, reaches his prime.
As a wily old seer,
he says, "Happy New Year!"
then returns to the scene of the crime.