conceived in a cellar, of

a Tommy home on leave,

mother waving mistletoe,

shortly she would grieve

 

official dad inert upstairs

exempt due to his arches,

Tommy back to trenches

bullets or forced marches

 

killed in action in the mud

in my blood's a war hero,

official dad a profiteer,

moral fibre less than zero

 

the duality in mistletoe,

fertile of love and death,

war-time passion to sad

Tommy's bloody breath

 

each Christmas a sprig

of berries on the stairs

down to Tommy's trench,

his fear, his dying prayers