Disappearance on Christmas Eve

The day had drawn on when my Mama announced
She had to go out: and so off out she flounced,
Leaving us children to fend for ourselves
My mama went off with a party of elves.

And how do I know? Well, I’ll tell you the tale:
I know, when you hear it, I’ll see your face pale
When you hear of the horrors my mama endured
To ensure that our table was laden with food.

It was Christmas: outside all were merry and jolly
as they chattered off home with their fir trees and holly.
But our pitiful house was filled only with fear
of starvation and cold and a miserable year.

Mama had just fed us our small bowls of gruel
when, stripping her apron, she said, “what a fool
I have been! Just stay here and wait for the morn:
be sure that at Christmas you won’t be forlorn.”

Then stepping outside, she waved once, and again
and out of the darkness, the cold and the rain
there appeared an old farmcart, filled right to the brim
with elves: wearing green, and with face-splitting grins.

“You’re welcome!” they cried as Mama stepped on board
“We’re needing a meal.” Then, grabbing a cord
they tied her up tight, as trussed as a hen
and laughing quite evilly, vanished again.

We wondered, we worried, but what could we do?
‘Our Mama knows best’ is but all that we knew.
We slept as we huddled together that night:
the next morn we awoke: but oh - what a sight!

The table was laden with meat, cheese and cakes,
puddings and pasties – all manner of bakes.
I never did hear of the horrors endured
to ensure that our table was laden with food.