A Christmas Story

by David Honeybell

What’s Christ got to do with Christmas? I really would like to know.
Doe he deliver the presents, on a cold night covered with snow?
No, it’s Santa who flies the laden sleigh, guided by Rudolph’s nose
so red,
after all the good little girls and boys, have had an early night in bed.

And does he provide the Fir trees, with their coloured lights festooned,
or the flickering twinkling lights, which outshine the silvery moon?
No, it’s the maligned local council, who put up the festive decorations,
whilst a few well meaning simple folk, talk of some Gods manifestations.

Doe he provide the turkey or leg of pork, the sprouts and roasted spuds,
with which we stuff ourselves, leaving space for some custard covered pud.
No, it’s the poor old farmers, who with hard work fatten up the
beasts,
in order that we can sit down with our family, and all enjoy the feast.

Does he set up our flat screened televisions, taking up most of the room?
showing lots of sport and ancient films, brightening up our winter gloom.
No, it’s the TV moguls selling advertising, boosting their already obscene pay,
but we would not have any of these, if it wasn’t for Christs birthday.

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