by Nick Gisburne
It’s time to close your eyes, my little lamb
To hear me tell the story of the snow
You waited, good as gold, and here I am
Hold tightly to your pillow. Here we go
In Once-Upon-A-Twinkle, far away
Where all the winter winds refused to blow
A man called Father Christmas came to stay
And wondered why there wasn’t any snow
He asked the king and queen, “How can this be?”
But even they confessed they did not know
The old man smiled and said, “Leave it to me
And you shall have the purest, perfect snow”
His reindeer filled the land with white, wet poo
“It smells,” he said, “but that will have to do”
