Sharville Christmas NewsPoem 2020
You know, I wondered if I ought to write
A poem this year, as it’s been so weird.
But then I realised that it just might
Show me that it was better than I’d feared.
Better? (I hear you say.) How can that be
When stuck at home from March through to July,
When springtime sunshine was the best to see
Some cricket, but there was none? I could cry.
Let’s go back to our Christmas-New Year cruise.
“Columbus” was our home two blissful weeks.
A joyous way to quell the dark-day blues,
And get some winter sun Ruth always seeks!
In Casablanca and then Arrecife,
We loved the sights and lapped up all the sun.
Ruth had her sea-swim while in Tenerife;
Then to Funchal for all the New Year fun.
We anchored in the harbour. It was rough
Too rough to get ashore. We didn’t care,
As taking in the vista was enough.
And then, at midnight, fireworks filled the air.
We brought the New Year in with style, on board,
And wished for world-wide 20:20 vision,
Not knowing what the future would afford,
How dreams and fears would set up for collision.
Before lockdown, we had a double dose
Of Beethoven, in this his special year.
Then fabulous Ravel, up very close -
Watching Huw Watkins’ playing, crisp and clear.
So privileged we were that we could see
In London the fantastic “Upstart Crow”.
It was as brilliant as when on TV,
And we were so relieved we got to go.
We took a ride upon the London Eye
In sunshine on a lovely day in spring,
With no idea our travels would run dry
As, carefree, we relaxed and did our thing.
Just days before the lockdown clipped our wings,
We had some fun in Bristol and Penarth.
Then as Ruth’s Springtime birthday drew near, things
Had started taking quite a different path.
Our calendar was cancelled there and then.
No concerts, no days out, no trips abroad;
No trips at all, in fact, not even when
We needed stuff. All mixing we abjured.
Back to the blackbird. One caught our attention
With his distinctive little tune last year.
But this year he would add a new dimension
And give us memories we’ll both hold dear.
He entertained with every kind of riff,
Including one from which he got his name,
For he sang “I’m Bo Diddley”, as if
Instructing us, as every day he came.
He stayed all day, each day, up till July,
Then suddenly he stopped his joyful singing.
We missed his music, but he still popped by
Not realising the joy he had been bringing.
So Christmas for us all, dear friends, will not
Be what we’d want, but let’s all just have fun
As best we can, and then hope for a shot
At normal-ness for Twenty Twenty-one.