Unwanted gifts?

Did the truelove of the writer of the eighteenth-century carol forget what he’d sent her the day before? The unfortunate recipient (whom I thought most likely female) received a total of 364 items over the pre-Christmas period. But, necessity being the mother of invention, she had hatched a cunning plan . . .

On the first day of Christmas, my truelove sent to me
A partridge in a pear tree.

So I emailed my truelove: “What am I supposed to do
With a partridge and a pear tree? My love, I thought you knew
I haven’t got a garden to plant the pear tree in;
And that partridge in the hallway is making such a din!”

On the second day of Christmas, my truelove sent to me
Two turtle doves
And a partridge in a pear tree:

He hadn’t read my email! They’re clogging up the hall,
Those partridges and pear trees which I didn’t want at all!
I’ll ring him up . . . he’s out. That leaves me pretty vexed:
I hope he’s not gone shopping – who knows what he’ll buy next?

On the third day of Christmas, my truelove sent to me
Three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree:

Now this is getting silly. Where shall I put them all?
The French hens weren’t too happy when I shoved them in the hall
With three partridges in pear trees, and four doves – I think that’s it . . .
(I had to prune the trees a bit, to make sure they would fit.)

By the seventh day of Christmas, can you guess what I had got?
Despite all my pleas:
Twelve turtle doves, fifteen French hens, sixteen calling* birds, fifteen go-old rings;
Twelve geese a’cackling, seven swans a’swimming, and some partridges in some pear trees.

On the two next days of Christmas, my truelove sent to me
The usual, and some girls:

Sixteen maids a’milking, in a rustic sort of way,
And nine ladies dancing – what is he trying to say?
By now, my house was full, jam-packed to overflowing;
What would he send me next? There was no way of knowing . . .

On next two days of Christmas, my truelove sent to me
The usual, and some blokes:

Twenty lords a’leaping, eleven pipers piping
The neighbours heard the racket, from behind their curtains peeping,
But soon came out to join the fun, and now the street was humming!
And then – my truelove’s master stroke – came twelve drummers drumming!

I saw a chance to make some cash (my truelove wouldn’t know):
I’d charge those neighbours all to watch my Festive Christmas Show!

And then I’d sell the pear trees, set free a turtle dove
And a calling bird or two to fly to my truelove.
I’d flog, for Christmas dinners, those geese and fat French hens –
But I’d give the swans back to the Queen, so we could still be friends.
And, finally, I’d auction off each lovely golden ring.
Then I will thank my truelove. What will next Christmas bring!

* Originally, ‘colly’ birds – a regional word describing a black colouring.

[Images: Spectator (partridge in a pear tree); RSPB (turtle dove); pinimg(French hen); birdwatchersgeneralstore.com/(calling bird – a blackbird); dotjewellery.com (gold ring); pngimg.com (goose); freeimages.com (swan, milkmaid and dancer); Evening Standard (leaping lords); Wikimedia (bagpiper); freepik.com (drummer)]
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