It's the shortest day of the year today
And it felt like it as I drove the car
Homewards in the dark and wet rush hour, way
Unclear, rush hour in full swing, as the dear
Folk of Bolton headed home, Christmas cheer
No doubt in their hearts, no work for a few
Days - turkey, wine, the in-laws now a mere
Matter of hours away, the people who
We avoid all year round, unless they do
Something daft like dying, or maybe they
Make almost as big a mistake, they are
Determined to get married. My car's due
Back in a week. Til then I will make hay
And maybe be a Christmas highway star
No comments:
Post a Comment