The season of insincerity dawns,
As materialism and self-interest spawns
In soulless supermarket aisles
As sad souls neck back vials
Of proof rum
Slumped, as glum
They take to the streets
To marvel at the fleets
Of fakery, spouting a message of hope
While others in the gutter can barely cope.
With frost-bitten fingers they look at the crowds
Weary and complaining, wrapped in woolen shrouds.
Overwhelmed with the pressure of buying the perfect gift
Conscious of the consequences, of the potential rift.
We’ll whine as we mope with a bottle of wine,
Failing to spot the desolate whose life’s on the line.
The message of goodwill to you and your kin
Is soon forgotten as loved ones pile in
For a christmas feast and night of excess
With nothing but the finest and the very best.
So consumed by our consumerism, we can’t open our eyes and see
The desperate folk sheltering under a leaf-less tree.
As we peel off the paper for another unwanted parcel,
Remember to them, your ‘hovel’ is a castle.
How they’d long to be in your shoes just for one day,
Away from the bitter cold, not abandoned like a stray.
So this Christmas, spare a thought for the lonely,
The frail and homeless, as you curry favour with a crony.
They need our attention, our love and our care
Because the only thing they’ll receive is a judgemental stare.
For once treat them like one of the three kings,
So for one day they can forget how bitter the winter night stings