We’re having a plastic Christmas with a beautiful plastic tree,
It’s trimmed with plastic baubles a beautiful sight to see.
It’s standing in its plastic pot with a plastic fairy too,
It won’t shed its leaves before twelfth night I like that, wouldn’t you?
We’ve got some plastic holly about the picture frames,
A bit of plastic mistletoe for playing kissing games,
Our plastic decorations are stuck with plastic goo,
And plastic holy figures make a crib scene far from true.
We’ve got a plastic turkey, the whitest ever seen.
And a plastic pack of frozen peas to add a touch of green.
They’re sitting in the freezer with fish and fruit and bread,
Hope I don’t forget to defrost them or it’s plastic ham instead.
A plastic Christmas pudding’s there in a lovely plastic bag,
Quite different from my mum’s homemade tied up in a bit of rag.
And on the day I’ll heat it up in a clean white plastic bowl,
And serve it up with plastic cream which squirts through a little hole.
In the stories there’s plastic Santas giving out their plastic gifts.
It’s not always the same of course, they have to work in shifts.
Our plastic Christmas presents are tied with plastic bows;
Our plastic table centre has a gold sprayed plastic – rose?
The plastic music that we hear is played on plastic tapes,
Or plastic discs or video’s and how that music scrapes.
The carols that we’re used to are plasticated too,
They’re jazzed up and romanticized into a yucky goo.
Now you may think I’m complaining but that just isn’t so,
I love the time of Christmas especially if there’s snow.
It’s the greatest season for men or peace on earth,
For it’s the happy season of the Blessed Christchild’s birth.
There’s nothing plastic in Him, He’s real life flesh and blood;
He was born in a stable of rock and grass and mud.
And real and lovely angels sang gaily from the skies,
To those hardworking shepherds with wonder in their eyes.
In horror with hands to mouths, they realised what they’d done,
And mother chased them from the door with “Go on, quickly, run.”
This story had a happy end when baby was recovered.
She couldn’t understand the fuss, with kisses she was smothered.
And mother hugged the baby.
Now that was a true story but only told to me,
And there’s another story, as well known as can be.
You’ve heard it many times before, you know the one I mean.
The story that is old yet new, a story evergreen.
It’s all about a baby.
Now Christmas day will soon be here with all its food and fun,
But still before the day arrives there’s masses to be done.
There’s all the decorations, the Christmas tree as well,
The holly and the mistletoe; the stars, the silver bell.
You’ll have no time to stand and stare, at least so you will say,
But please remember in your haste to find the time to pray.
AND DON’T FORGET THE BABY!
