Like Lady Macbeth,
The old woman wept-
Out damned spot! Out!
This here lot,
Refuse to see the rot,
Out damned spot, I say.
We cannot talk of grief today-
This here sky fits only sun,
They’ll shun the one
that brings the rain,
Today is not a day for pain.
The one-legged beggar wears a cap-
calls out to children with ear-muffed ears-
Clutching gifts all neat and wrapped,
A season here for all that’s dear,
Perhaps the wounds of desert war,
The scars of which we can’t ignore-
Perhaps the weight that soldiers bore-
Is too grand a weight on this Western shore.
And all the tired and heavy- hearted-
Is for them too the city lights?
For so many people we haven’t started
To cast some warmth on their wintry nights.