While eight maids milked nine ladies were dancing. Because ten lords wanted to leap one of the maids had to dance, which left the eleven pipers fuming as there were only seven maids left to ask, and the twelve drummers left off their drumming to fight because there were no more maids to ask, until it was realised that not all the pipers and drummers were men as first thought.
So the fight was called off, they all had a glass of warm milk (taken from the buckets which hadn’t yet been kicked over in the dancing) and they retired yawning to bed, finally leaving the love birds alone on the twelfth day of Christmas.
But the true loves were already lying exhausted on the sofa. It had been a trying day.
He once had a goose that laid some eggs, of gold each were the same — until his true love hoped to see from where the gold all came. But geese are good with warning calls and since he gave her seven they raised th’alarm when their time came to be dispatch’d to heaven.
Five gold rings? Why? To symbolise eternity? Five gold rings: by showing one’s fidelity so suitable as signs to give to our true loves! But after gifting partridge and three turtle doves, fancy French hens and a choir of blackbirds, surely expectations are running now to words which indicate to all some feathered friends? Consider now the goldfinch, tinier than French hens.
Its liquid tinkling sounds are delightful to our ears, ‘finch’ an onomatopoeic version of its pinks. Its striking blood-red mask’s said to spring from Christ’s own tears, and the Scots and rural English call them ‘spinks’. The flash of yellow seen on each and every wing of these cheerful birds brings joy to every heart. And their friendly chatterings as they trill and peep and sing speaks of hopes of never ever being apart.
Now believe me when I say that the things of which one sings in the carol may not be the things one thinks. For the gifts the true love brings when one sings of golden rings could be goldfinches or rightly golden spinks!
Four coal-black birds sitting in a tree so high, hoping they’ll be never found baking in a pie. Four days into Yuletide they are just a little miffed finding themselves singing, caged, presented as a gift.
To celebrate the Saviour’s birth He gave to her a stick in earth. As promised to his love most true A tree from that bare stick soon grew And pears did from its branches form To show his love for her stayed warm.
But she was troubled when she heard him promise he’d give her the bird…
‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through the world Science warned of the perils which soon would unfurl Like a veil across nations, some variant virus Respecting no frontiers, a fate undesirous.
But bad politicians (who cared not one jot For the weak, old or ignorant) hastened their plot To party all night while denying the fact; Just flaunting their privilege, which others lacked.
But turkeys will finally come home to their roost, With leaks to the press and the media now loosed. It all adds to the sins seeking bottoms to bite: “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
A reflection on contemporary politics, after a Conservative PM, his Cabinet and his coterie were revealed in December 2021 to have partied through 2020 while the country went through various lockdowns and periods of self-isolation.
With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore and his poem ‘A Visit from St. Nicholas’ (1822)
People who park on pavements, leave cars on corners, park where it says No Parking, gaze haughtily from their gas-guzzlers, tailgate you when traffic is heavy, and make your road a rat-run: may their pumps always run dry.
Pooch owners who don’t clear up poo, or leave doggie bags on branches (like votive offerings to Almighty Dog), or rip up signs saying Keep Dogs on Leads on grass where livestock grazes, or irresponsibly let them roam: may they forever gag at canine waste.
Bodies who deny you personal space, who treat you to their taste in loud music, liberally scatter cans and cast-off plastic, jettison food wrappers or household junk, and trash the world on which we all live: may ghouls invade their dreams each and every night.
A nightmare is not just for Halloween: please pray there’s no peace for the wicked.