The Gatherer

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