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The Gatherer

     The Gatherer lives in the garden most of the year,
     It moves very slowly so no one will hear,
     But near to Christmas it comes into the house
     And hides quietly, as quiet as a mouse.

     Then deep into the night when we’re all asleep
     Into the kitchen the bold creature will creep
     And then with its long nose and very large eyes
     Looks for Christmas cake and remains of mince pies.

     It has pointed ears and a tail that is brown
     Treading over the floor but making no sound
     And then with its paws and its prehensile thumbs
     It feeds on sandwiches and left over crumbs

     The Gatherer dines on pork patte with ease,
     Cold ham and salami with pickles and cheese,
     Thin slices of fruit and long celery sticks
     Then through the bowls of nuts and raisins it picks.

     It’s tongue is as long as an elephant’s trunk
     And with it sips brandy until it is drunk
     Then you may hear the rhythmic sound of its snore
     As it sleeps ‘neath the stair or under the floor.

     On the next morning when you finally rise
     In the empty kitchen there is a surprise,
     You’ll never know what made the food disappear
     So beware when the Gatherer returns the next year

     Barry  Stebbings
     12/11/2020

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