CHRISTMAS PUDS

I watched my mother one October day
as patiently she stoned a pile of prunes
and then she sifted time and time again
a bowl of flour , then suet she minced into a copper pan.
Dried fruit she washed and chopped up candied peel,
she blanched prune kernels hid inside their stone
and lemon rind she grated very fine.
Then all and many more, I now forget, were mixed
with reverend care with beaten eggs and milk and beer.
Excitement grew: Christmas would soon be here.
The magic of it all thrilled me inside.
My turn came round to stir as best I could
the stodgy mass that turned to Christmas pud !
Heaven forbid she'd ever know we now microwave our puds !