Xmas Tree

The train sets off at half past eight
As usual, ten minutes late.
Twenty-five minutes the journey lasts
The rattling train speeding fast.
The voice announces at the station
'This is London Paddington'.
London with its usual sights:
The tacky plastic Christmas lights,
The crowds of people at bus stops,
The blaring music in the shops,
The lurid sign of Maccy D's,
The greasy smell of chips and cheese,
The taxi drivers' angry shouts,
The beggars, tramps and lager louts,
Buses emitting puffs of smoke,
Heavy smog that makes you choke.

We catch the tube to Trafalgar Square,
Carol singers gathered there,
Around the tree's majestic base,
Huddled in its warm embrace.
That great fir tree, standing high,
Its tip bisecting the dark night sky.
Scattered up its towering height
Are sparkling stars, shining bright.
My eyes move up, travelling far,
Up, up to the crowning star.
That star holds my enchanted gaze,
I stare transfixed, as in a daze.
That star illuminates the night,
Radiating warmth and light.
I am still held by its loving glow
When my mother whispers 'Time to go.'