FIRST PRIZE POEM.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18946, 17 December 1929, Page 10 (Supplement)

FIRST PRIZE POEM.

(Topical and Humorous.) A CHRISTMAS MISFORTUNE. Dear Father Christmas rose out of bed, Wisely shaking his old white head. Said he, “I have over-eaten this year. The chimneys will be too narrow, I fear! Alas! Father Xmas found his words too true. For when he attempted it, he couldn’t get through. “Oh dear!” he exclaimed, “What am I to do? For the stars are now fading, and the sun will be through.” Now is the time when I must say, Father Christmas was becoming more greedy each day. So he took from his sack a large iced cake. Said he, “I will eat till this chimney doth break.” All the time our hero in food did indulge, So began the bricks of the chimney to bulge. " Now,” said Father Xmas, “I soon shall be free, Though most of my presents are inside of me.” " I hope,” he continued, " the doors are not locked, For if I broke down each chimney My small friends below would be shocked. And that would be sad calamity!” (Original.) —June Townsend. 32, Swann’s Road, Avonside.