The next in my series of unfeasibly awful poetry, written by Rosalind Savage, aged 7 and 3/4.
I woke up one morning feeling excited,
But I couldn’t recall why I felt as delighted,
And then I remembered, it’s Christmas Day!
We are going to have a party with games to play.
I looked at my stocking, it was filled to popping,
With lots of parcels and a pogo-stick for hopping.
I rushed downstairs, and saw the tree,
Underneath it were lots more presents for me.