the Christmas Gift

Here is a poem that I have shared before – but I feel (I hope) it bears repeating…as this Christmas approaches, and the ‘festive season’ is upon us, there are (still) too many troubles and troubled in this world of ours?

To everyone who is gracious enough to follow this Blog – my thanks and appreciation. And, whatever your beliefs, creed, disposition ; good fortune ahead to you and yours, and let us hope for better things in 2018,  for those not yet experiencing the good times.

 Carningli.

THE CHRISTMAS GIFT

The season of storms is upon us,

but a recent, magical day,

gave us the gift of the estuary,

stilled and low sunlight warmed,

the plumped, moss banked waters, becalmed.

I look up at our house

the farm nestling on the hill,

where your window is soft lit and the fire burns within,

and I am so very fortunate to be glad homed and hearthed,

protected, still.

Yet in Syria the snow is falling,

refugees flee, no journey’s end,

troubled children cry in the Philippines

desolation and ruin beckon in South Sudan,

here, our homeless shiver as sleet descends

no comfort at fireside, no family, few friends.

On the estuary, the oyster catchers carol and trill,

as the sanderlings stuttered

seaside run the breeze unfettered,

unzipped, undone,

whilst the cry of the gulls, mourns and chides

and the white lipped tide tumbles,

salt water sprayed and spun,

open mouthed for the gathering chill.

And in the early hours,

by now, rain and wind maddened,

on my radio as I lie enveloped in the duveted darkness

as the World is Served by the BBC I learn that,

in Yemen young girls find themselves sold as child brides

no gifts to share, precious little charity?

But I am loved, cosseted and cared

for neither cavalier nor complacent,

this much I know but grateful,

sometimes almost guilty that life,

the world should spare me so.

And so, a few days before Christmas,

I turned for home, such a very precious phrase.

And, if I had a wish for these and future days,

and could share it with the mountain’s Saint,

Brynnach, lingering – perhaps – above.

I would ask this Christmas Gift,

for the world,

love,

there must be love.

Christmas Update