OLLY WREATH (Oliver with a twist)

T'was the night before Christmas

and in the workhouse,

Little Olly was chatting

To his favourite mouse.

As he told him his dreams

and ridiculous schemes,

the mouse caught a passing woodlouse.

The mouse had heard it all before

and had to stifle a yawn

as Olly coughed his lungs up

and spoke 'til the first light of dawn.

He was wracked with consumption

and I'm sorry to mention

was doomed from the day he'd been born.

T'was Christmas day in the workhouse,

little Olly was sweeping the floor.

Of all the jobs they gave him,

this was his favourite chore.

As he pushed the broom

round the echoing room,

his coughing sounds bounced off the door.

He dreamed he was up in Heaven

where brushing the floors was a treat,

and was pushing his gold-plated broomstick

asking angels to please lift their feet.

There were chocolates galore

in piles on the floor

and he could have all he could eat.

T'was now the day after Christmas

and Olly had finished his coughing.

A pauper's grave was his destiny -

no hearse to carry him off in.

His broom lay at rest,

he was dressed in his best,

laid out in a rather small coffin.

In heaven the angels were singing.

Their prayers had been answered it seems.

Little Olly was sweeping around them

having finally realised his dreams.

He flew round the room

with a gilt-covered broom

and his mouth full of strawberry creams.