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.