Christmas Poem

Farce by Roger Robinson

(an ode to stuffing)

The year we used cheap shiny wrapping
and our paper crowns, were thin and torn
The year our bird, was a few pounds lighter
and dangling pockets, were frayed and worn.
The year each nephew, godson and niece
got gifts we made, with our bare hands
the rest received things, from the pound shop
some cake tins, beads, and no name brands.
But what was Christmas, without the stuffing
cheap, tasty and plentiful to eat
Stuffed into our too small turkey
till plump and full, with width and meat
as if that thin bird whose life was gone
lived only on best bred seeds and corn.