0100 hours on The Shortest Day

0100 hours on this the shortest day

The presents are beneath the tree in enticing disarray

There are papers there of every hue in reds and blues and greens

None of the parcels I can see will hide a can of beans



Yet beans I am told can hold a store of great things for your heart

So how is it that on Valentine's Day Beans play not a part?

This thought so random does still rancour in my head

And yet at this ungodly hour I should be asleep in bed

But such is life and life is such that as you get much older

The pillow on which we lie our heads seems as hard as a volcanic boulder



To get back to my current point of writing in dead of night

I hope the person reading this won't get too bad a fright

The human brain is so complex. It's like a wee computer

And every so often it causes vex to any would be suitor

It 'functions' and it 'crashes' and it 'rambles' all around

The folders that are stored away sometimes cannot be found.



But when you least expect it when all is really still

The brain can open up again its contents for to spill

And that is why I'm sittung here with silence and my thoughts

The family's upstairs asleep dreaming of mince pies and tortes

So I will finish writing soon and return to my own slumber

And shut down my brain and my computer and find a canvas to paint by number!!!