I know. It’s nowhere near Christmas, but I couldn’t resist. The closer it gets, the more cynical I will be, so I decided to make the most of my (albeit early) festive mood, and do this. And I’m totally going to suggest that it goes in the school magazine because I won’t write another festive poem this side of Christmas!
A breath of cold air sweeps through the gap under the door,
And I feel the first kiss of winter fill me up with a longing,
For presents and pine, and the scent of gingerbread men,
Fresh from the oven.
I open my curtains and gaze out over the garden,
The cold, crisp kiss of winter is here,
With its’ memories of snowmen and sledging,
Down the hill by the rugby pitch.
I run downstairs to the kitchen, and as I go,
Smoking men waft waves of cinnamon kisses,
Towards me, and I enter the room,
In a cloud of scent, and smile.
In the evening we clasp tight our wishes, then lay them down,
In the flickering warmth of the wood-burner’s kiss,
The familiar smell of burnt wood flies out of the room,
On wings of smoke and wishes.
Come midnight I hear heavy footsteps on the tiles,
And the jingling of small red kisses hung on the tree,
The rustle of paper parcels being packed on the floor,
Ready for discovery in the morning.
Alarm clocks and muffled giggles herald Christmas,
And pattering feet and a kiss of warmth in my heart,
Peppermint candy canes and tinsel in my hair,
The first kiss of Christmas is here.