Playing scrabble crazily,
I'm running out of words,
The flowers are all hiding,
Except of course the holly.
The children are all buzzing, like bumblebees on speed
Father Christmas counting cash to beat his little angels needs.
Mother always worries about how to count her money,
The bumblebees on speed just spilled all the honey.
"**** it", says mother the bank notes are all sticky,
Blooming mother, into crime has got to launder money.
It's very cold outside.
Those darned notes will never dry.
The children will not settle down,
and there's still a week to go.
They're looking at the green grass,
they're wishing it would snow.
I the poet doesn't want it too,
Makes my soggy feet all blue.
I guess it's back to Scrabble.
That was a bit of fun.
Mental exercise for a moment,
over and done.
(C) LIVVI