Saturday, December 09, 2006


A sun disc pale and white
At the low point of the year
as day gives way to night
and the wet branch drips a tear

that holds a falling world
compressing all we see
into a tiny liquid globe
hung on a silent tree.

When Roman steel was hurting
and their armies made us bow
From Mary’s belly bursting out
a child infused with power.

We listened for a while
to universal love;
he conjured up a spell
that changed the eagle to a dove.

But the dove grew talons
and his song became a scream:
a Church bore down upon us
where the Roman boot had been.

So we traded Church for Market
And the donkey for a Ford
But there’s nowhere we could park it
And the children soon got bored

And the banks that gave possessions
Are calling in their loans
Their smiles hide their aggression
They want everything we own.

But the sun will rise beyond this death
And next year we shall find
Another way to shield the earth
From the Roman soldiers’ mind.

© Richard Lawson
December 2006

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