Christmas is coming, yet still people gripe,

With faces as wrinkled as manifold tripe.

Discontented with the goods in the shops,

Always a problem, the moans never stop.

When troubles arrive that can't be endured,

Who do they look to for a swift cure?

Do they regard it as simply a fable,

That a Holy Babe was born in that stable.

If they find that there is a sad plight,

Do they pray in the still of the night?

The blessing of Christmas came to bring love,

Sent down for us from that heaven above.

So let us be happy, and share in the joy,

It was given to all by a dear baby boy.

Uplifted so kindly, no need for despair.

Forgetting our worries, show that we care. By Mrs Joan Foster

Moor Lane, Bolton

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.