Christmas on the croft

The mice are quite poorly

the rats they are ill

there's a sheep dog at the door

and a cat on the sill

the floor boards are groaning

the stairs start to squeak

the right footed wellie

has just sprung a leak

as another left wellie

is stored in the loft

it's Christmas eve

down on the croft

the presents he's wrapping

and he's doing fine

with the yellow and red

of last years baler twine

he writes in the name

so easy to read

between the bold letters

of certified seed

for her is a present

he thinks it will suit

a new pair of fur lined

pink rigger boots

the children wrote lists

but he'll get them a treat

a new lambing bottle

with red Pritchard teat

as the main present

for his doting wife

a new wooden handled

Opinel knife

he looked through the list

at what name appears

as the grateful recipient

of new dagging shears

he's off to drink sherry

and a carrot to munch

then strangle an old bird

for Christmas day lunch

creeping down to the cellar

of dark webs and spider

he hunts for a barrel

of four year old cider

with a glow in his belly

and haze in the head

he'll fill in the farm survey

of stock that are dead

then off to bed knackered

he'll sleep until three

when the children will scream

“He's bin” with glee

there'll be orange in stockings

and chocolate treats

wrapped in coloured paper

and old vat receipts

content with new wellies

the colour so nice

he's off to the field drinkers

to break off the ice

he sings an old rugby song

as happy as can be

because it's Christmas day

on the croft by the sea