Autumn mists have come and gone
Peat bogs begin to film with frost.
Dark turf, wind-dried, now carted home
Will save chill winter’s heating costs
The poignant smell of burning peat
Clings like a mantle round the town.
I close my eyes and wish like mad
That feathery flakes come floating down
I’m nine and recognise the signs
That Christmas now is on its way
I dash down to the bottom barn
Madly searching for my sleigh.
I Crack frozen puddles with my toe,
Feel sunken prints of passing sheep.
In the fairy thorn white mistletoe
Twines where red-breasted robins cheep.
A curlew calls across the Moor.
Its wistful call drifts through the whins.
I cut red-berried holly edged with hoar
Hung in contrition for mankinds sins
Carol singers trudge down our lane
Pure voices raised in ‘Silent Night’
Drifting snowflakes in silken skeins
Weave precious dreams on this Christmas night
Soon stockings hung on chimney breast
Will await the visit of Santa Claus
But tomorrow I’ll get out my sleigh
And whizz past hedges hung with haws.
Shooting stars in the velvet sky
Bring gasps of awe at those curious beams.
Recalling the wise mens arduous trek
While seeking the infant born to redeem.
Todays poetry contest submission was written by Fred McIlmoyle.
Do you think it could possibly be one of the best new poems of 2013?