Ice Creams For Sale!

The boy was on a mission
As he cycled up the hill.
His orange scarf flew in the wind.
His gloves kept out the chill.

The winter wind blew in his face.
A blast of sleet and hail.
Patrick stamped his feet and called,
‘Ice creams! Here, for sale!’

That night he thawed out in the bath,
And shared his woes with Duck.
‘I didn’t sell a single one.
I always get bad luck.’

His frozen nose was red and raw.
He heaved a weary sigh.
‘Something’s just not working, Duck.
I really don’t know why.

‘They didn’t see you there, Pat!
However loud you cried,
They didn’t even hear you – they were
warm and snug inside.’

Patrick wore an extra vest.
His bell rang through the day.
A car went whizzing past his cart
And soaked him with its spray.

The winter rain gave way to sleet,
Which stung his neck and ears.
Patrick pedalled down the hill
And cuffed away his tears.

‘You’re doing something wrong, Pat!
Just think outside the box.
No one wants your ice cream.
When they’re wearing woolly socks.’

And as the snow swirled round that night,
There whirled through Patrick’s dream,
Mugs of steaming chocolate
Topped with scattered flakes and cream!

The children, woolly-hatted, scarved,
Came whooping from the town,
And gathered where the white-topped fields
Began to tumble down.

And as they sledged down snowy hills,
Red-cheeked with whoosh and fall,
Young Patrick did a roaring trade
Behind his hot drinks stall.

And in the bath, that night, with Duck,
Pat finalised his plan.
Tomorrow – Christmas shopping
And a special gift for Gran.