The Mad Dash

'Tis the week before Christmas and all through the house,

The family was hiding. Yes, even my spouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

Though the smell of fresh glue still hung in the air.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
To the sound of the sewing machine hitting high revs.
And I in my 'jamas and all in a flap,

While he settled down for a long winter's nap.

When from the kitchen there rose such a clatter,

And he sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.
He sprang down the stairs all of a flash

And flung open the door with vigour and dash. (Colin Firth look alike is my man! Honest!?!)

The angle poise set the nook all aglow,

And gave the lustre of day to the little tableau.

There at the bench was a snoring young maid

And before and around her the following were laid...

Twelve strings of bunting,
Eleven socks with piping,
Ten dye lots steeping,
Nine skirts for dancing,
Eight cards for gluing,
Seven stars for sticking,
Six sacks for fraying,
Five golden wreaths,
Four crochet hooks,
Three pinking shears,
Two craft knives
And a jar of glitter on the floor!