There are always Uncles at Christmas. - Dylan Thomas

I hold a beast, an angel and a madman in me.

Me, Polly Garter, under the washing line, giving the breast in the garden to my bonny new baby. Nothing grows in our garden, only washing. And babies. And where's their fathers live, my love? Over the hills and far away. You're looking up at me now. I know what you're thinking, you poor little milky creature. You're thinking, you're no better than you should be, Polly, and that's good enough for me. Oh, isn't life a terrible thing, thank God?

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.