Charity (Poetry)

The world’s lost the meaning of Christmas —
why is it that people can’t see
it isn’t just sleighbells and tinsel,
pretty parcels left under a tree?

Why can’t we all show more compassion?
Why is it the world is at war
and some are left hungry and homeless?
We help but we all could help more.

We pity the sick and the starving,
pretend they’re mere victims of fate
while we join in the prayers and the carols,
put our pennies of guilt on the plate.

Daren’t we offer a smile to a stranger
or welcome him into our home?
Can’t we rescue the lost and the friendless
or the lonely from being alone?

We do our good deeds at safe distance,
believe we are generous and kind,
but is it enough to give money
in the hope that we’ll gain peace of mind?

We cling to the magic traditions —
think reindeer and Santa and elves —
exchange too-extravagant presents
but seldom give much of ourselves.

And afterwards, what are we left with? —
the bones of a turkey, well-gnawed,
and the feeling that something was missing
as the ghost of a knock finds our door.