“Twas the month before Christmas and Avon”

’Twas the month before Christmas, and all through the lanes  
Little white cottages glistened with rains;  
In Avon the river curled silver and shy,  
Under willows that whispered of seasons gone by.  

Shop windows sparkled with ribbons and light,  
The High Street a canvas of red, green, and white;  
From Butcombe at St. Nicholas, ales frothy and pure,  
To sweet-smelling bakes from the corner’s old store.  

The Bridge of Pulteney dressed up with fir boughs,  
With laughter that tumbled from children in crowds;  
The Roman baths steamed with their ancient embrace,  
While mist wrapped the Abbey in silk and in lace.  

Old men at the pub raised a pint for good cheer—  
“To another fine Christmas, another bright year!”  
And shoppers with parcels all brimming with dreams,  
Hurried home by the Avon’s soft silvery gleam.  

By twilight, the spires glowed gold in the air,  
A promise that magic and hope lingered there;  
’Twas the month before Christmas and Avon would sing,  
Of memory, warmth, and the peace that it brings.  

For here in this city, with history so grand,  
The days before Christmas were perfectly planned;  
With the bells and the laughter, the holly and snow,  
The heart of old Avon was brilliantly aglow.

Create Your Own Poem | Recent Poems