The Mediation of Christmas

During a most wintry and trying time of year,

the old English church became even more severe:

 

The priest’s short nose,

which steamed at empathy’s rose,

could not be put out by hose,

nor lovely reading of prose,

nor gifts many carefully chose.

Thus came the woes

of silent air which swept with “no’s”:

 

“No” to mediary protection.

“No” to popular election.

Windows all boarded for fear of inspection.

“No” to divine forgiveness.

“No” to calling upon witness.

 

All these rang true,

unless every family ne’er rued

to heed demands unparalleled in skew.

 

The troubled pope took a rope

to the most richly adorned throats

with a Passover of his own,

so that his force may be known.

 

After biscuits of flour were frosted

and left downstairs on a dish,

kin were told to be lost in

sweet dreams of all that they wish.

 

In the cloak of fearful night,

homes were plundered of their sacrifice-

an angel of judgement passing by.

While lords relish spoils of their strike,

twinkling bells calmed children’s fright;

Can’t this eve be a celebration, like the Israelites?

 

Selfish atonements were still imposed;

Yet, halls were decked.

An exodus reached.

Out of the gloaming winter feast.

 

Of silent air swept with “no’s,”

thus came the woes

of the priest’s short nose:

Gifts many thoughtfully chose,

and lovely reading of prose,

gleamed with empathy’s rose.