[Jerome Betts]

Bring me Hunting Gothic Corbels,
Please, dear Santa, on your sledge,
Also, Mackintosh’s Gorbals,
And Lost Views of Wenlock Edge.

Poor old Archie keeps on moulting;
Soon he’ll be a furless bear;
People say he looks revolting,
So bring garments he can wear.

Clothes for me spell needs more flagrant–
As an ancient rhyming ham
I want khaki shorts, all fragrant
With the musky scent of Pam.

But, should this appear too shocking,
You’ll assuage my senile lust
If you leave within my stocking
A blow-up Peggy Purey-Cust!