Older Chests? Thanks Damo.

I was chatting the other day with a colleague, and they said. 'Remember that thing you wrote for that newsletter last Christmas, well I thought that was nice, it got a message across...'
I was fairly dismissive, as I tend to be of my own work, but, when I read it again I though it should probably get posted...this blog is about my writing so it's valid and perhaps that is a revelation in itself.
This blog is about writing, yes, I know they all are....but specifically, you know the thing about the monkeys and the typewriter and the works of Shakespeare, well if i write enough, and I do, then there may be hope for something of importance to materialise, you never know.....
So here it is, written December 2004, so not actually last Christmas, but never mind.

When the nights are cold and the home fire’s burning,
Spare a thought for the displaced, and yearning.
The children who wait for food in far places ,
nothing but tears, smears and fears on their faces.
In this time of doubt and of worry,
When for the price of a McFlurry ,
Those that have not, can not or are not able,
To sit at a table, or watch a film on cable,
Could at least have hope,
That one day they too will try to cope,
To struggle and push,
With the rush, and the crush,
Of Christmas shopping, hopping,
From overcrowded shop to overcrowded shop,
Fit to drop,
Having spent,
Enough to dent,
Phenomenally,
The economy,
Of a developing nation,
For little Stacy, Tracy or Macy must have a Playstation.

I am not attempting to criticise,
For I too am inclined to supersize,
When the mood takes me, but this year I will try and realise,
That I am blessed with my stress, little as it is,
It might seem fitting that here, sitting,
In my privileged position,
And knowing nothing of malnutrition,
Nor war, nor want,
That I am given to reflection,
How easy for me to be the next one,
To suffer, the rougher side of life,
Would I hope for Christmas kindness,
From those that are blessed,
With plenty,
Yet still give empty,
Promises and loose change,
To those who, strangely,
Remain in the domain of the streets,
Missing out on the treats,
Can they not see the tinsel and baubles, the trees and glitter,
Why are they so bitter?
I have not asked but, yes, I do wonder
Along with Sir Bob…..
“Do they Know its Christmas?”

d'you know, It's a bit wishy-washy in places, and I'm not that happy about the last bit...

Mr Pat.