Post Christmas Miracle

The turkey meat was at an end,
The ham had been devoured,
The stuffing now was history,
The trifle-cream had soured.

The mince-pie box was full of crumbs,
The tangerines were black,
I looked inside our empty fridge,
Just longing for a snack.

“There’s not a thing to eat in here,”
I called out to my wife.
“It’s time we did a shop again,
It’s back to real life.”

She looked inside the fridge and said,
“Now that I don’t believe!
Did someone eat the cheeses that
I bought on Christmas Eve?”

“Not me!” said I. “Not me!” said Neil.
“Not me!” said our Louise.
“It must have been the Holy Ghost –
He’s awful fond of cheese.”

“Three small cheeses fat and round,”
She furrowed up her brow.
“But did I put them in the fridge?
I’m not so certain now.”

We looked beneath the Christmas tree,
The wreath upon the wall.
The cards upon the mantelpiece,
We checked them one and all.

We hunted high, we hunted low,
We hunted in between,
But the roundy cheeses, small and fat,
Were nowhere to be seen.

I searched our room, I searched our Neil’s,
I even searched Louise’s.
Then, peering in the crib, I yelled,
“Ah, look! The baby cheeses!”