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A Poem for Christmas ©

John McCormick
Orillia, Canada
2004

A man, one day of God was born,
Not at this time of year.
He died,
We didn’t want Him,
A rebel, without cheer.

In Roman times ‘twas a festival
To honour a Pagan god,
It had nothing in common with His birth,
Nor of the way He trod.

He told of things we didn’t like,
And the path that we should follow.
How the end is near for all of us!
We found it hard to swallow.

Do we think of the poor in warring lands?,
Or think, "Thou shalt not kill?"
He died, He said, to save our souls,
Killing others, was not His will.

If he came knocking at our door,
We would hang him once again.
"What right has He to spoil our fun,
This Saviour of all men?"

"Who are you to spoil our party?
Come in and have a beer!"
"This is not a night to be out,
And spreading words of fear."

It is how we act with our fellow man
Throughout the year that counts
In honesty and truth
And love, it all amounts,

To doing what He said we should
And eat our daily Bread.
We should be loving all,
Right now!
Not wait until they’re dead.

The newly born know nothing
Of what they will achieve.
It is only on their passing
That we all come to grieve.

A Christmas tree He never saw,
The kind that burns down houses.
Nor "nights before",
With Scrooge and all, and the ever Christmas "mouses"

The White Christmases we dream about,
Were never of the Son,
The only feast he celebrated
Was his final one.

He never saw a Santa Claus
Nor stockings hanging there,
Because he gave His all away,
And his feet were always bare.

The Merchants ruled in Ancient Rome,
As they do right to this day.
They peddle guns in the name of Peace,
At least, that’s what they say.

They fill their shelves
with Christmas elves,
And things that we don’t need
The world is not a better place
The hungry we do not feed.

His name we all would better serve,
By giving peace to others.
In loving friend and foe alike,
And treating them as brothers.


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