Solistice Ballad

Sun disc pale and white

At the low point of the year.

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.

While Roman steel is hurting

and their armies make us bow,

From Mary’s belly bursting out

a child infused with power.

We listen for a while

to universal love;

he conjures up a spell

to change 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