I enjoy the Downhome. Nice to read how other people enjoy living. This is a poem written by my late wife Barbara.

A P.M.'s Thoughts on Christmas Eve
The Christmas rush is over
And I'm feeling mighty proud,
To think that for another year,
I will not see such crowds.

At first it was exciting,
But as the days flew by,
Weary grew the poor old feet,
And sleep near closed the eye.

Parcels came in by the dozens,
For sisters, daughters, aunts and cousins,
You'll never see such fine array,
If you live forever and a day.

But oh! 'Twas such a headache,
And really set me cracking,
To replace all the contents,
Of a tissue-paper wrapping.

There were cards galore, mailed by the score,
And franking arms grew weary,
You can take away the practical,
And leave me just the theory.

On Christmas Eve the break came,
The place seemed strangely empty,
And I lowered down my aching bones,
On a seat set there to tempt me.

I felt I'd walked a hundred miles,
But my countenance was wreathed in smiles,
For satisfaction from within,
Enabled me to keep my grin.

The bag racks were all empty,
Lock boxed, G.D. too,
Don't ask me where my own was,
I haven't got a clue.

Tonight old Santa would be here,
With reindeers eight in highest gear,
And tomorrow I would count my winnings,
A plate with turkey and the trimmings.

B. Blackmore   Submitted By: NULL