the christmas market

string lights over gold bauble and garland

Little huts that glow in darkened parks

Below the towering cathedral walls,

The savoury smells of onions waft

Through the icy Christmas air,

Mingled with the doughnut highs

And sweeping lows of carol notes.

Sellers blow on frozen fingers,

Hoping for hot chocolate treats

To hold and hug and breathe some life

Back into bodies gripped with cold,

Paper cups of festive joy, topped with cream,

Marshmallow speckled at £4 a pop.

Children beg for wooden toys they’ll never use,

Handmade with love, collectibles;

While adults wonder: should I buy that cuckoo clock?

That hand carve stool? That jumper knitted by

A girl who herds the mountain goats

On top of grassy slopes in Austria.

We huddle round the skating rink

And watch the children cling to penguins

As they glide across the ice, ending with

A ride upon the ferris wheel, watching humans

Like they’re ants, far below us, unaware

Enjoying hours at the Christmas fair.

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