Christingle
An orange that your hands can’t span.
Forgetting our grown-up ones can,
we tell you not to touch the fire;
to hold it lower, straighter, higher!
Wide eyes are hypnotised by flame,
but each child knows they’ll get the blame
if hot wax slides, escapes and slips
so keep it upright! Catch the drips
on tin foil petals, not the floor
and not your hands. One minute more
to ward off wobbles; twitches too.
Christingle magic’s over, phew!
Forgetting our grown-up ones can,
we tell you not to touch the fire;
to hold it lower, straighter, higher!
Wide eyes are hypnotised by flame,
but each child knows they’ll get the blame
if hot wax slides, escapes and slips
so keep it upright! Catch the drips
on tin foil petals, not the floor
and not your hands. One minute more
to ward off wobbles; twitches too.
Christingle magic’s over, phew!
This poem is copyright (©) Liz Kendall 2025

About the Writer
Liz Kendall
Liz Kendall writes poetry for adults and children. Her co-authored hardback Meet Us and Eat Us: Food plants from around the world celebrates biodiversity in poetry, prose, and fine art photography. Publications include Candlestick Press, The Hedgehog Poetry Press, Flights, Allegro, The Dirigible Balloon, Thimble Lit Mag, Amethyst Review and Lighten Up Online. Find her online at theedgeofthewoods.uk, @rowansarered on Twitter/Facebook.