Somewhere a child is looking in as I did, at Christmas as it ought to be:Lighted Christmas trees, presents, carolers at the door, snowflakes andSanta Claus with bundles of toys. Somewhere a 16 year old is looking in, as I did, at romantic firesides, two lovers with crystals filled with wine with sounds of carolers at their door. Somewhere a parent is looking in, knowing the ink has run dry for another loan as flashes of bank ads promise cash to make Christmas right.
Somewhere still, a child is drawn to the sound of bells and puts his last dime into the kettle red. Somewhere a child is visiting the forgotten in nursing homes with cookies of lopsided trees and four pointed stars sprinkled with red and green.Somewhere a child hands a loaf of warm bread and a cup of cocoa to a homeless who blesses the child, then returns home, looking in.
On Sale
I walk the city under neon lights
Watching shoppers dodge and fight
The endless maze of traffic rush.
They toss in pennies
In corner pails
As chimes ring out
All joy to the world.
They hang out wreaths
On window panes
They wrap and curl
Green plastic bows.
They’ve listened good
To the Adman’s soul.
He’s promised them Joy.
Peace. Love.
Happiness. Goodwill.
Hallelujah to all.
I wonder how many people here tonight
Fear the coming of the promised morn.
( From my Golden Spike, 1973)
Frances Kakugawa's Blog 