Song for Christmas Morning

The dearest day comes round again.
I only know that you are born
and there is freedom, sweet and plain.

We see a calendar of pain.
Our tongues yap-yap with human scorn.
The dearest day comes round again,

a flower of peace on Earth’s terrain,
a shining. We see water, corn –
and there is freedom, sweet and plain.

We snatch, pollute, destroy for gain,
mis-live. To one blind self that’s torn,
the dearest day comes round again.

A star illuminates the brain.
I leave a dusty maze, outworn,
and there is freedom, sweet and plain.

Laughter of bells. So you remain . . .
until a time to wear the thorn.
The dearest day comes round again
and there is freedom, sweet and plain.