Choosing Shoes
Gum boots when it’s raining
Sports shoes when I’m training
Sparkly shoes for dancing
Riding boots for prancing
Sandals for a summer’s day
High heeled shoes for dress up play
Then sadly comes that time of year
When Mum says, ‘Let’s go shopping dear.
Your feet keep growing, time to choose
A nice new pair of (yuk!) School Shoes.
One night a magic happening – our Christmas tree grew tall.
It was a tiny sapling – we’d sat nearby the hall.
The Wollemia Noblis – A native Aussie pine.
The miracle of Christmas – a tree that I could climb!
Ignoring the traditions, I quietly jumped with glee.
I left my parents sleeping and shimmied up that tree.
Through the hallway ceiling, past the chimney top.
Distant church bells pealing – my watch showed 6 o’clock.
Sparkly decorations: silver, red and gold.
Angels sang ‘The First Noel’ – the start of Christmas told.
This Christmas tree – so magical – had brought me to the morn,
It brought me to year, the day – when Jesus was just born.
I touched the Christmas tree star, now above the cloud.
I noticed, as I looked around – a stable and a crowd.
So there I was a visitor, upon this special day,
And the only gift I had – was a drum on which to play.
So while others danced and sang, I quietly played my drum.
In ore I watched this holy scene – then I heard my Dad and Mum.
They were climbing up the tree, exclaiming with delight –
“After all these years our native pine has finally done alright.”
Most of the Santas I have seen,
Have been rather round,
Long white beard and moustache,
Peaked hat pointing to the ground.
But then it got me wondering,
How down a sooty chimney does he fit?
And when climbing out the other end.
Wouldn’t his clothes be covered in it?
Wouldn’t the soot leave a trail behind?
Which everyone could see,
Proving that Santa Claus had been,
And returned back via the chimney.
I wondered where the reindeers parked,
Whilst waiting for Santa’s return,
Was it outside the house he was visiting?
About Santa, there was a lot to learn.
So many questions come to mind,
But in the end, does it matter?
Because Christmas is about family,
Love, sharing and being together.
They looked so very tempting,
The ball-balls on the tree,
Bright and multi coloured,
They were inviting me.
Some sparkled, others shiny,
Just hanging on the tree,
I jumped up and grabbed one,
And hid it happily.
I was alone in the house,
So, I stole another one,
I added it to my pile,
This was so much fun.
I jumped up for a third attempt,
When I heard the door,
My family stood in front of me,
Whilst I crashed to the floor.
“Billy Joe, you naughty dog”,
My owner yelled at me,
“How dare you take the ball-balls off,
Our beautiful Christmas tree”.
I bowed my head with regret,
And all that they could see,
Was the ball-ball in my mouth,
They laughed and patted me.
Christmas Trees
Let’s buy Christmas trees,
That last forever,
Made of wood or plastic,
Or anything clever.
Let’s save living trees,
Being cut down in their prime,
Just to serve a purpose,
For a very short time.
It seems such a waste,
To kill a tree that is living,
When there are many alternatives,
Which are far more forgiving.
Australian Children’s Poetry 