The streets are festooned in coloured lights.
Happy throngs of shoppers, faces lit,
Go about their way.
Choirs sing carols.
All is as it should be at this festive time.
Three unwise men ride across the desert,
Following the scars they have created.
They bring gifts; not gold,
Nor frankincense,
Nor myrrh.
Putin, Assad, and the Ayatollah,
Rain gifts of death from above,
They drop down chimneys,
Through closed windows,
Free to the recipients.
Shepherds from around the world,
Watch these shocks by night,
Sitting on their hands,
Denying culpability,
Singing platitudes loudly.
This season of goodwill,
To be embraced, and enjoyed,
By many.
Marks a stain on humanity,
Never to be erased.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
