Christmas Poetry Competition 2007
A Christmas Tale by Bob Stafford
When Christmas comes, with its showers of snow,
The winds of ice hath pierced to the root,
And bathed every bough in rime of frost.
Comes the sweet virtue of the Yuletide season,
When sweet fellowship warms the seasons chill.
Inspiring goodwill in every hearth and home,
And tender love engendered in young and old alike.
Hath any other season this power to charm,
And festive fare and revels and cheery melody.
That children try sleep with open eye,
So to catch St Nicholas in his nocturnal round.
Then to go to worship on Christmas morn,
And feast together with fond family.
To exchange tokens of kinship and of love,
And specially, think of those beyond the shires' end.
To England, and every land about the world,
The blessed holy martyr child has arrived.
To those that have hope, grant they are given what they seek.