“Imagine it might happen” by Louise McCarthy

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When I grow up I’m going to be an astronaut – it’s true!

I’ll visit all the planets – perhaps you could come too.

We’ll zip around the galaxy and catch a sparkling star.

We’ll send our families postcards to show them where we are.

I drew some plans the other day; I’ve begun to build our spaceship.

Would you like to help me finish it so it’s ready for our space trip?

‘‘Twas the night before Christmas” by Louise McCarthy

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Twas the night before Christmas

And all through the town,

Not a motel was vacant,

Not a place to lie down.

 

A couple whose baby was just about due,

Stood at the end of a very long queue.

A wise man suggested to ask at “the stables”,

“It’s an airbnb – the owner is Mabel.

 

“Why thank you! “Said Joseph – the father to be,

His wife who was Mary said “Let’s get the key!”

But the guests who were staying were mooing and braying.

Joseph exclaimed “This needs some explaining”.

 

Mary looked up to the heavens above,

An angel appeared and said “Hark darling love,

It’s an Airbnb: no windows, no door,

Though it does have a charm that you just can’t ignore.”

 

So Mary and Joseph decided to stay…

 

A baby arrived the very next night.

And above the stable a star shone so bright,

A single star rating – for this cosy dwelling ,

The start a story so very compelling.

‘Pots and Pans’ by Louise McCarthy

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Pots and Pans

In the oldest part of Bygone Town,

You’ll find the restaurant “Pots and Pans.”

It says on the sign above the door:

“Established 1654.”

 

Staff and owners you won’t see,

And that’s the strangest mystery,

At the restaurant namely: “Pots and Pans”

A business that three centuries spans.

 

Pots and pans,

Pans and pots,

Lots of pans,

And lots of pots.

Bubbling, boiling,

Bristling, broiling,

Frying, cooking,

Sizzling hot.

 

Pressures building,

Lids are lifting,

Steam escaping to the air.

Fragrant, fruity, aromatic.

Tempting and inviting.

 

Knives and forks,

Spoons and splayds,

Saucers, plates and bowls.

Cups and glasses, tall carafes-

Upon oak tables fall.

 

Flickering flames from candle glow

Casting light on bluestone walls,

Show portraits of the owners gone –

Overseeing work goes on.

 

Kettle whistles loud and frantic:

Restaurant’s open!

Come on in!

Come on in everyone!

Come and get it! Dinner’s done!

 

Soups and pies,

Casseroles,

Puddings, flans and that’s not all.

Tea and coffee,

Milk and honey.

The cost is just one crown in money.

 

Concealed by masks and hooded cloaks 

Are ghosts that keep the past awake –

Serving food to present folks

Of whom they won’t forsake.

 

A warm and homely atmosphere,

Engaging conversations,

Happy, merry, full of cheer;

These – the magic incantations.

 

“Pots and Pans”- three centuries old. 

No – the owners never sold.

It is a favourite haunt of mine

A charming place – where I love to dine.