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What shall I write for Christmas Day.

          When all the world with festive cheer

         Has set aside the need to hear

A truth that might show us the way

To face the things that go awry

          Realising that this love

          Does not descend from heaven above

But radiates from those who try,

Against the vanity and greed

          Which fill our lives on working days

          To Love, even though these quieter ways

Seem impotent to the world's creed.

So I will write of love which greets,

          Unnoticed by the streaming crowds

          Whose stoic faces are too proud

To see the homeless in the street;

Of love which puts another first

          Regardless of the cost to them

          And will do the same again

For there's no end to Love's deep purse.

Of Love which does not plan ahead

          Or ask that favours be returned

          As if all gifts must be earned

Accounts rendered, contracts read

And sealed on pain of retribution

          Knowing that there is no reward

          For kindness or the loving word

Freely given in restitution.

Of Love which takes us as we are

          Unaware of faults or failure

          Unconcerned by past behaviour

Seeing nothing but the star

That shone upon us at our birth

          Bringing grace to every hour

          We breath and giving us the power

To celebrate what we are worth.

Brian Hick December 2010

©copyright Sally Hick 15.12.22