Festive

I could not spot one festive tree

decked out and lit up bright,

no charming tales of nativity

as I would have liked;

and up and down the streets I looked -

just a worn out sort of guy

over a punctured tyre he stooped -

nothing merry or blithe.

But then I passed a clump of palms

and through it the wind sighed

‘look hard - they come in many forms

sometimes quite well disguised.’

Indeed the clouds above me moved,

reconfigured the light

and dumbstruck underneath I stood,

astonished-mystified.

And since that day I do not search

for festive trees and sights;

instead look at palms on the verge,

flat tyres, stooped men, roadsides.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!