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Posted Tuesday, January 26, 2010
`A Plea from a Poet'
A Plea from a Poet is the title I give to the following piece of writing, sent to me just before Christmas by my friend, the Dorset poet, Jim Morgan.
Jim didn't give it a title for it was never intended for publication, it's simply his thoughts about Christmas written down and sent to me in a letter.
He has kindly given me permission to publish it here on my web-site, a permission I sought because I believe many readers will share the sentiment and appreciate Jim's offering as much as I did. I have placed it in the `NEWS' section in the hope that more people will read it!
Tom Bates. January 25th 2010.
If it must be Christmas let it be an old fashioned Christmas card Christmas.
Let snow lie `deep and crisp and even' and the frosty evening air ring with the joyful sound of children singing carols.
Let stars shine with a piercing glory, especially the one large glowing jewel there in the eastern sky.
Let the streets be full of happy shoppers hurrying home laden with Christmas tress and bulging parcels, presents for sons and daughters, mums and dads, grandmas and grandads, aunts and uncles, and all the presents be either useful or beautiful and such as are genuinely desired by those for whom they are bought.
Let the blue nosed philanthropists stamping their feet on chilly pavements, standing on corners with their collecting boxes, be rewarded by warming smiles and rustling notes from every passer-by. Let the neighbourhodd hostelries be full of cheerful innocent mirth and high spirits and no merry maker be sick or foolishly drunk or be a nuisance to others. And let the shy young man, hopelessly in love the whole year with the tall stately secretary, get to kiss her under the mistletoe and be surprised and delighted by the warmth of her response and at last find the courage to ask her for a date.
Let the wealthy in their limousines patrol the Embankment and Waterloo Bridge to pick up the poor and homeless of Cardboard City and convey them to luxurious suites in glittering hotels for a slap-up Christmas treat they will never forget. Let at least one millionaire endow small but serviceable mobile homes against winter's severities.
Let every family draw together on Christmas Eve and, sitting around a blazing fire, tell old family jokes, share loving memories, the generations linked by love and respect and deep affection. And let the single, the lonely or abandoned, in their bedsits in the centre of great sprawling cities find friendship and love where they least expect them and be happy.
Let all the children everywhere believe in Santa Claus and not be disappointed. Let them wake on Christmas morning to find their stockings bulging with good things, especially that one thing they really wanted and sent so many laboriously penned notes floating up the chimney for. And let the sceptic and the hardened cynic looking out of his window at the night sky and seeing that great star in the east suddenly catch his breath in wonder and for a moment doubt his arid certainties.
Let all the soldiers in the world suddenly realise wars futility, its stupidity and waste. Let them throw away their weapons and turn to embrace their enemies. And if any politician or general rails at them as traitors or cowards let the soldiers embrace them too - and throw them in the nearest river.
And let this one violent act be the sole exception in a Christmas when men and women at last know it is a truth that `we must love one another or die' - and peace on Earth, and goodwill to all men, begin to become at last, a reality.
Contact Tom: firstname.lastname@example.org