Hurry, rush, the race is on:
Christmas time, it won’t be long.
You can’t put off this happy day,
it’s almost on us, here to stay.
The list must do, there’s no more space,
last-minute panic on my face.
Where’s my money, lost my cheque book:
if this goes on, no time to cook.
Why can’t this be like other feasts?
Moveable, looseable, cruiseable beasts.
Hurry, worry, more strain again,
Santa’s banter, Ho Ho bright pain.
And all along the streets I spy
children waiting, smiles in the eye.