Bah! Humbug or Maybe the Dickens with It
Betty Ann Fisher
Though Santaâ€™s on the rooftop
with his reindeer hitched to sleigh,
Iâ€™m convinced his trip is non-stop
and heâ€™ll head the other way.
The stores are filled with bustle
and shoppers in a rush,
theirs is a test of muscle
and their manners make me blush.
This yearâ€™s cards all leave me cold,
show naught of Seasonâ€™s meaning.
Angels in modern dress are bold,
some at a lamp post, leaning.
I long for cherubs garbed in white,
with faces which are meek,
and Wise Men of that Holy Night,
not thugs with tongue in cheek.
Whereâ€™s the heartfelt spirit told?
The joy of love and giving?
What of the shepherd tending fold?
How come these times weâ€™re living?
It surely will be Christmas, though,
wherever stars come out
to light the way across the snow,
of that there is no doubt.
This poem is from my mom’s book, Please Delay Departure.