Underneath the colourful fairy lights and tinsel,
Unseen by the mulled wine fuelled shoppers,
Dodging Christmas deals and Santa Claus’ grotto,
Just hoping for someone’s worthless coppers.
A few discs of punched out metal going spare,
Returned in exchange with the sort after toy,
The Queen’s heads rubbing round in a pocket,
Could make some fire and radiate a little joy.
Surrounded by boldly illuminated shop windows,
Their contents crying out for public attention,
The people sat on a sheltered corner in shadow,
Passed by the crowds without a single mention.
No room to stay in the fully booked premiere inn,
No warming stables this time for the desperate,
Just a cardboard hotel or a battered and torn tent,
Accommodations for those who are unfortunate.
Does the Christmas magic reach down this far,
Or stop short of the used and abused pavement,
Scattered with second hand glitter and mince pies,
Dropped without thought by an unknown claimant.
Does this season of hope and joy to all men come,
When you don’t have a chimney to welcome,
Or even a carrot to thank Rudolf’s bright red nose,
In that drafty home or your makeshift slum.
The winter wonderland bites deep inside them,
Jack frost causes chill blains on their toes,
They dream about gathering round a fireplace,
Will they have a silent night, who knows?
In the bleak midwinter when you’re shopping,
Look away from the festivities a minute,
Give your change weighing down your pockets,
Spread that cheer and happiness for a bit.