Poetry | Stories | Photography
The tree stands tall in the lounge room awaiting decorations.
Amongst the decorations lay many ornaments; some new, others old.
A wooden ornament passed from generation to generation sits oddly on the table.
Tabetha picks it up, and says, “Why am I made of wood?”
cattle and horses sing
before the manger
starry moonlit sky
Bob greets Christmas with bottles of Gin and Rum.
Mr Party Hard skulled thy spirits as if touched by the hand of meaningful existence. Work’s the pits, so he sits for a bit and wakes up at 3 am.
“Whoa! I’m wrapped around the letter “B”. How could this be? I’m so horny.“
a plump stocking
bursting at the seems
excitement
overwhelms
you
C & K 