Poem; Christmases so long ago.

I remember Christmases' of long ago,
When it seemed always to snow,
And it's sparkle hung in the air,
 everywhere.
I   remember on Christmas Eve
Joyce and I were so excited.
That mum said, "You two, off
To bed, or I fear Father Christmas
Will not call here."
I remember snuggling down in
Bed, listening to the story my
Sister told, of the three wise men
Of old. What a picture she painted
In my mind, of the baby Jesus
In a manger, where his parents
Were strangers.
I remember being so excited I
Could  not sleep, and even though
I counted sheep I remained awake,
Until Joyce said, "For goodness sake,
Settle down, because if you keep
Awake he'll take our stockings to
Somewhere else."
I remember listening for the sound
Of sleigh bells, coming down the lane,
But head stuffed under the counterpane
I fell asleep, and sure enough next
Morning he had been.
I remember singing carols to Mrs Bengry,
You had to sing two or more, afore
She would come to the door bearing
Mince pies, always a lovely surprise.
We ate them on the way to our Neighbour
Next door, so good to eat and what a treat!
I remember waiting until afternoon,
When our small gifts were given, and
Though they were all that could be
Afforded, it was the thought that
Counted, which amounted to our day.
I remember the warm feeling of
Our family getting together, round
The tree, covered in cotton wool
And bright baubles which gleamed,
And, it seemed to me to be magical.
And best of all I remember you
Joyce, telling me all those stories
Night after night in bed, or you read
A book by candle light, I loved those
Nights. And I hope this Christmas
wherever you are, be it on some
Bright star, that you know, I
Remember you most of all.
Happy Christmas Vic and Joyce,
Loved forever.

Augustine Nash.

Augustine Nashs' E Books.

Hi everyone, if you are looking for good e books to read over Christmas take a look at my latest ones on ' Amazon Augustine  Nash e books'
'Aside the Margaret River' is the story of three generations of a family living in Western Australia, read how they lived in those early days.
'Nailed' is a murder story, fast moving, tragic, and you won't know who done it until the end!
'Wilfred Owen: Pro Patria Mori' is the life story of this famous poet who was killed in action in the First World War at the age of 23 years, 3 days before the war ended. He is thought to be the greatest war poet of his time and some of his poems are in this e book.
'The Camera never Lies' is a murder story where you know who did it, but is he going to get caught?
I wish you all a very happy and peaceful Christmas and New Year. Augustine Nash.

Poem; A Grey day.

The fog is thick out there,
And I can only just see
The holly trees, red berries
Stripped by birds, and not
A sound to be heard.
The fog brings grey and
Gloom into my room,
It lurks like some wild
Beast, threatening to
Feast on my old bones,
I am home alone.
The fog is thick out there,
And I remember when
You and I, travelling on
Your motor bike, was delayed
For the night,
So thick we could not
See road or trees, and
As we walked along,
You burst into song,
"Show me the way to go home."
The fog is thick out there,
And from my chair I
Look out, nothing, no one
About, grey as the day
You went away.
Augustine Nash.

Poem; I followed his fame.

I hated football,
Was never a fan,
Until this man,
Waltzed into my life,
On the TV screen,
Clean-cut, handsome
And it seemed,
Gave his all.
I had never heard his
Name, though he had
Already rose to fame,
But that mattered not
To me, when I watched
Him leap into the air
After scoring a goal
I was hooked, lined
And sinkered at the
Joy on his face, at
Winning for the UK.
I have watched him come
And go over the years,
Standing out  with that
Smile and face,
Of grace.
As I said, I am not
A fan of football,
Until that one moment
So long ago,
When he made my heart
Flow with faith,
That a young man who
Gave all his best, high was
Above the rest,
Yes, David Beckham
Was that man, who
has ended up a rich man,
Due to his own strength,
Long will he remain at length
in my heart.
Augustine Nash.

Poem; Seasons.

Every second of every minute
Of every hour I watch the
Seasons pass, through my
Window panes, come sun, snow
Or rain.
Spring is best when bulbs begin
To show, and grow into tulips
And daffodils, and buds form
On the bare branches, so enchanting.
Summer brings the sun when my
Roses are in bloom, I can see
Them from this room. And your
Bush bearing big blue trumpet
Flowers, I could look at for hours.
Bees buzz amongst the flocks,
Mother would have loved so much,
Pink, white and blue, smelling
Of scent the whole day through.
And butterflies flit here and there
Through the warm air, so beautiful
To see, they mesmerise me.
Now here comes Autumn with
A glow on it's face, turning leaves
From green to red, mists begin to
Rise, right before my eyes. Apples
Can be found littering the ground,
The last of the blackberries picked,
And mushrooms appear every year.
I know when winter is here,
When north winds blow and we shall
Have snow, and icicles hang from
The shed, shining in the poor light,
My delight. Snowflakes fall silently
Down, covering the ground, and
Everything is coated in white, what
A sight to behold, worth more than
Gold. And Christmas is on it's way,
Any day soon, with all that it brings,
Decorations up and many things
Hidden away, for the great day.
Yes, I watch the seasons come and go
From my chair, wishing I was out there.
Augustine Nash.