Before the house is wide awake,
On this frosty Noël morn.
It’s up the hill for Ben and me,
To greet the Christmas dawn.

Frozen webs adorn the boughs,
Of the trees in Jessop’s copse.
With brightly shining silken threads,
And silver frosted drops.

He runs to me, with head held high,
Ears flying in the breeze,
Cavorting like a pup again,
Despite arthritic knees.

Ben stops, and cocks his head aside,
Then probes the air for smells.
And from the valley down below,
Floats the peal of Christmas bells.

As down the bridle path we slide,
Twixt the frosted beech and birch,
We hear the songs of peace on earth
Rise sweetly from the church.

Old Ben is panting loudly now,
As we reach the village street,
But still grunts out a festive woof,
To the other dogs we meet.

We’re nearly at our snug, warm home,
Down the lane behind The Plough,
Where awaits our Christmas breakfast.
We can smell the bacon now.

A “Merry Christmas, Dad and Ben”
Sing out the happy faces,
As they sit around the table,
In their appointed places.

So there’s bacon sizzling in the pan,
Fresh coffee starts to brew.
Old Ben has got his bowl of Chum,
And a Christmas bone to chew.

Then here’s a message of good will
From ‘round our Christmas tree
Good wishes for a happy time,
From my family, Ben, and me.