CELIA'S POEMS

No 283       December 24

 

Whoíd want to be Prime Minister,

It must be the worst job ever,

Having to stand up and say,

This Christmas you canít be together.

 

Letís just face the facts,

Itís a thankless job he does,

Whatever he is told to say,

He canít please all of us.

 

Heís put in the firing line,

The decisions are not just his,

The experts make the decisions,

So he tells us how it is.

 

Whoever is Prime Minister,

I suppose itís their lifeís ambition,

Whatever privileges or money they get,

I wouldnít want their position.

 

Iíve enough thinking of my family,

Itís been the worst year weíve known,

Boris is worrying about everybody,

Canít think about his own.

 

I donít get into politics,

I just feel sorry for this man,

He has a killer to contend with,

And is doing the best he can.