Doris Darbyshire


Ladies Dear,

To thank you for the lovely way,
You sent a gift on Christmas Day.
Belatedly I now reply,
So much to do and “Time doth Fly.”

At last I hold in hand a pen,
To tell you How and Why and When,
I sallied forth with one intent,
The Christmas Voucher to be spent.

Three weeks had passed the festive season,
The “Flu” alas another reason,
But came the day I braved the cold,
For something waiting to be sold.

Onto the bus and through the town,
Into the store of great renown.
Pushing by the swinging doors,
Jostling on the crowded floors.

A crowd indeed, What is the lure?,
Oh, special offers, bargains sure.
A chance to buy me something pretty,
Or maybe something novel, witty.

Lovely things on every side,
But temptations I deride.
Past the perfume, how exotic,
Surely I am idiotic.

But one counter do I see,
Past all others do I flee.
Heart agog but seeming calm,
Searching for a healing balm.

Ah, here it is, my card I tender,
Silently I thank the sender.
Pause awhile before I go,
Lifting weight from stinging toe.

Have you now guessed on what I spent,
The Christmas Token kindly sent.
Why yes, you’re right, t’was like a thorn,
That piercing grumbling nasty corn.

Notes on this poem