Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

last year by an old stone school; 

decking our table in the spring sun 

halfway between Rhondda and London. 

Gala pie was carved for turkey, 

jam-cream scones were puddings 

and crackers crowned us paper kings. 

We clinked sloe-gin lemonades, 

swapping gifts, we’d half forgotten 

and the kids rode the sleigh of the van, 

as if reindeer were pulling them homeward, 

their names just tags, left behind.