A Curs’ed Christmas
A Baby, just maybe, on an old, old, winter’s morn, so old,
yet, oh so young,
Silent singing of silvery angels, a song that’s never been
sung.
A mother, a father, like, and not alike, and smiles in
laughter invisible,
And quiet and prayer, and joy that sparkles, never cheap or
“frisible”.
Colours, all the colours under heaven embraced in sudden
wonder,
And never, never, forever and a day, our loved ones torn
asunder.
“What’s wrong with that?” “Imagine that?”
“Let’s blast him, and waste him, and shrivel it up, and bury
it under a hat!”
“Kill it! Kill the boy baby! Roast him forever in fire,
Crush hearts, Crush limbs, Crush house and home, Crush every
newborn desire!”
“Tell them its Chance, and Happenstance!” And curse it with
heartless curse!”
“Tear him from Mother, and tender touch, and the warm’ed
breasts that nurse!”
“Never, never again, let them gain any gain from Good News
dressed in bright bows!”
“Rake them with whips, that are dragged through the Night,
and bloody their unbandaged toes!”
“Let there be no more healing this Night!” “Curse it, peel
it right down to the bone!”
“Drown it, and sink it with sad country songs, sang by two
men without a home!”
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