Premature Joculation
Daylight fades in the blink of an eye,
Dark shadowy trees against the sky,
Leaves lay dying on the muddy floor,
Frosts are knocking on England’s door,
Night-time lasts for sixteen cold hours,
Memories of springtime and vivid flowers,
Only grey days now that pass by sleepily,
Between bare branches blowing creepily,
Armistice day still in our conscious thought,
Mind digesting ways past generations fought,
Stomachs still full of sweets from Halloween,
No matter how many salads eaten in between,
Plodding through late autumn into the winter,
Desperate to finish the dullness like a sprinter,
Middle of November comes crawling on past,
You notice a feeling of joviality coming on fast,
A few indiscreet baubles catch you unawares,
Then a length of tinsel grabs you down the stairs,
You feel uncomfortable and desperate to resist,
Then a mate offers mince pie, you say if you insist,
You eat it guiltily knowing you’re starting to soon,
But the all butter pastry is singing you that tune,
You now notice every object covered in glitter,
But instead of thinking it’s just some shiny litter,
Your gaze at the pretty reflected light with glee,
Reminding you of your childhood’s Christmas tree,
Fairy lights made from different coloured glass,
Shining on a set of ancient baubles signed Xmas!
Then that feeling from long ago comes right back,
The one when you’re opening gifts like a maniac,
You are the sleepless kid on Christmas eve night,
Silently listening for the nine reindeer in flight,
Pretending to sleep while thinking about Santa,
With his big white beard, the Christmassy enchanter,
Then the reality swiftly comes back into sharp focus,
It’s November and you have bought a toy diplodocus,
Unfortunately this is your first premature joculation,
You say it’s just November in extreme gesticulation.
Part Dalek 