With Christmas come and Christmas gone,
And parties at an end,
A gift card safely in my bag,
I sally forth to spend.
I’m dressed up like an Eskimo,
Oh, for a skin like leather,
’Tis strange a nose so small as mine,
Does not escape the weather.
In Market, Post and Timothy,
I patiently comply,
With messages and errands,
And further food supply.
Then on I go at shops to gaze,
The Christmas glitter gone,
And showy bargains? greet the eye,
The Winter Sales are on.
And so to Boots, how warm within,
I wander round and round,
From muffler free my nose inhales,
The perfumes that abound.
Now, I have money in my purse,
I’ve drawn my widow’s pension.
But later, for the mundane things,
I’ll spend the State’s donation.
No magic in the weekly sum,
It’s usually bespoken.
But in my grasp a pleasant thrill,
A christmas Card Gift Token.
What do I see, what must I have?
A toilette bag, a dainty purse?
A book maybe, Ah no indeed,
With Sarah Lou’ no time for verse.
I look at corn paste, turn away,
I have no corn to treat, touch wood.
Shampoo, Talcum?, these I have,
Some rubber gloves?, perhaps I should.
And suddenly I’m rather tired,
My coat feels heavy, hot in here,
And fragrant Bath Salts meet my gaze,
Why yes, a bath, the First this year.
Written on New Years Day, 1974.
Copyright Doris Darbyshire