The bones of Christmas, ragged torn,

carved, discarded, bin-bound waste.

In the farmyard cruelly born

raised for purpose, culled in haste.

 

The ribboned knot of cast-off wrap,

stuffed in plastics killer sack.

An offering up of deadly crap

to fill a void that can't grow back.

 

The joy of peace in frugal life,

of roots in earth as rich as Kings.

Reward borne by toil through strife

uncoupled from the sum of things.

 

In calm content to turn off want

and live a life confined to need,

could be the ever-giving font

that by restraint might stifle greed.