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!
