Shops festooned with Christmas cheer,
bedecked with twinkling twists of gold
hold eager little faces near
in wonderment, as days unfold.
The merriment theirs to behold.
They crave
The Joy of Christmas.
On barren waste of sun-dried plain
her throat cracked, parched with desert dust,
she dared to dream of blessed rain
to dampen famine's acrid lust.
In arid ground and blackened husks
was lost
The Joy of Christmas.
Jingle-jangle bells of hope
ring greetings through the garnished air
as neon lights kaleidoscope
in frost-sprayed windows everywhere,
and hands reach out for all to share
and know
The Joy of Christmas.
In fading light her weak embrace
enfolds her dying baby's pain.
Somehow, somewhere she'll find a place
where crops grow strong with gentle rain
and children wander, whole again
to live
The Joy of Christmas.
Heaving throngs of merry crowds
weave bustle-busy through the streets.
Goodwill, soft-seasoned and aroused
in mellowed kind and tinselled treats.
Your wish to each and all you meet
to feel
The Joy of Christmas.
Her hollowed eyes, too dry to spill,
roll empty in their sunken rims
while flies make good on flesh so still
in dirty, frenzied, buzzing din.
She prays for life but death comes in
despite
The Joy of Christmas.
So hear it loud, the Christmas chime.
Breathe deep and savour it within.
Your conscience salved this Christmas time
with pennies thrown into a tin.
Now let festivities begin.
Enjoy
The Joy of Christmas.
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