So, This Is Christmas
I
Slip my hand into yours and let
me walk with you. Let the vision
of Christmas whisper across your face.
Let me see the last minute presents wrapped
around the Christmas tree and watch the children
laying in bed, wishing that Christmas morning
had already won the race over sleep.
When packages and torn paper shall lay
across a floor full of excited shrieks
and hugs and kisses.
Of Christmas dinners around a table
full of toasts and paper hats, and belts
let out a notch or two.
And watch the after dinner walks and kids
racing new bikes through the snow while
the old folks snooze, waking only for the Queen's
speech and to check what's been laid out for tea.
II
Now, slip your hand in Mine
and walk with Me. Let the vision
of Christmas show its tally across My face.
Let My eye be your guide to a world
I was born to die for on this day.
To show you man's inhumanities.
See the beggar sitting in the snow,
whose face hangs with cold like
the pall to a coffin.
The infant, trembling in his cot,
his body beaten and his mouth unfed.
His days short lived and unforgiving.
Watch how the poor get tormented
with hand-me-down food banks
and coloured promises.
See a blind - eyed, ear-covered
close - mouthed divided
mankind watch the poor
go hungry, the aggressor get
angry and the perpetrator
remain blameless.
All on this day of days.
Copyright © Terry Robinson | Year Posted 2016
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