The Christmas lights shine on, but no-one there
Wilting sad garlands, bright once, fading now.
Soft snow, on iron hard streets, muffles slow bells.
A home no more. The empty windows stare
Where laughter gaily rang, mute silence dwells.
In rooms where children played, loved toys, scatter'd.
Below dark tree, small parcels tied with bows
That never youthful fingers will undo.
Green needles, sharp as Christmas grief pattered
and cover gifts, like soil the mourners threw.
Far above our troubled globe, four angels fly,
Stretch wings, still new, No tears their faces stain
Here natal joy, incarnate, welcomes all.
Love, peace and blessings shine from winter sky.
The gift of Christ, a balm for mortal gall.
Sven Pertelson (July 2010)