Have you ever known what it is to follow ,
or what it means to give ?
We live in sheltered housing ,
We live we give ?
Do we ever count the cost and if we did would it add to much ?
Perhaps a smile when buying coffee ,
Or a prayer before lunch ?
or in the evening when I’m drifting off to sleep ,
Just before bed ,
a look in the mirror ,
Just to ensure I’m not ...
dead .

To nothing our sorrows are hidden ,
and it’s only in times of sorrow are our hearts entwined with thee .
For in these times the Crow must return to its stag ,
to pluck and proon ,
to pluck and groom .

For only now the fog can lift and her berries can be picked ,
and Toms daughter with bright bouquet can pick in order
to go a roving in the merry forest for a man that day .

What then if the grave was never entered ?
What if the gates were never shut ?

Or crushed to death by hungry  men ?
For Tom brought a wage that day ,
to the baker to buy bread ,
so no more the rent man would bother ,
no more the poor house pay
No more to beg or borrow for in Gods grace his household lay .

For now Christmas Day Tom didst find tinder for to kindle a flame
so his wife and daughter and Tom to go a hunting that Christmas Day .
a stag on spit they carried home ,
to crackling fire and charring coals .

Salvation Army choirs sang that glad morn .
No more children with swollen bellies with nothing on their feet ,
This morning they found play with
Hopscotch in their streets .
Flung open were the doors this day ,
Flung open with food for all .

Gods light in a lowly stable in some backstreet Roman town shone ,
On a little child ,
small yet mighty ,
Gods plan to save them all .

The Crow out of the earth then took his prey ,
for a serpent in the grass did lay .
With ****** beak with one swoop it took ,
to peerless dawn reached for a new day .

To all  my lovely followers  thank you
and have a blessed Christmas and New year x

From different times of splender our hearts go out to thee ,
in troubled times when the crow returns to it's stag to pluck and proon  ,  and the mornings dew has cast it's spell ,
as if the shades of the berries in the forest have now  all gone ,
and the grave was never entered ,
the church was never built .

How then if when  the gates were never
shut .
not crushed to death by hungry crowds.
and Tom   to dock yards went so he
could buy some bread ,
to feed his wife and child .
The love they felt when they were fed
on this Christmas morning.
As children played
or begged ,
or stole to feed their swollen bellies ,
in slum streets this day ,
a feast didst lay afore them .
Lamb roasted on a spit ,
Tom's door was now flung open ,
No more hunger ,
No more shackles of rent man ,
poor house years ,
then ****** tears shivering in dark infested boxes .
Yet to this day a child was born  into
this poverty ,
to save ,
amidst wise men and donkey.

Then a crow with eager eye picked a snake did wrestle ,
took it away ,
it's beak it's prey ,
rose  to catch the dawn .

For a bud was formed  
not in autumn  
not on June  ,
did it blossom  
but out of hardship did it lay ,
out of a forgotten tommrow .

The phones stopped ringing ,
my mobiles run out of bat ,
and the clock keeps ticking,
tick tick tick Tok .
and as I pull the covers more hours slip away .

The rain won’t stop falling and the winds blowing a gale ,
as I head out to the churches with porch lights ablaze ,

There’s a choir down town ,
its time to come shine ,
for now it’s time to come and sing !

The  lights are all a blazing the trumpets are on tune ,
and the rain just keeps on falling on this sunny afternoon.

Yet all  I’m wishing is all I want ,
and there are beautiful heavenly voices coming from the front .
I’m just standing there with tears in my eyes with ,
mince  pies and samosas cups of coffee and cake ,

and they are all busy chatting so full of love and grace .

The Christmas tree with it’s pritty lights behind the pull pit lies ,
with happy faces all around it handing out samosas and mince pies ,

The doors closes and the roads are all quiet ,
the clock keeps on ticking in my room ,
I turn over ,
Put out my light and all there is ,
Is you

I am the star that shines so bright,
that sends true seekers here tonight .

( to be honest it was given to me so here’s to Chennestone infants .)

To the mourning star of sorrow ,
inside the curtains drawn inside ,
a herse pulls up to weeping the young mans life now in a casket lay ,
With cobwebs to cover his head ,
for now he is dead .

Once bright lights  of stardom with Limosens await ,
starlights fame ,
a spotlight that one day grew dim .For now  death and Christ await ..,
For to much liquor and money ,
to many ladies and ***** ,
and the gypsy he sang captivated my love of solitude .

A ghost book from my grans book case ,
tales of 20,000 leagues under the sea ,
the skull ,
It’s pages I turned what fantasy in this old book I learned .
and so to the gypsy with grinding tale of whips and shacks ,
and a poor boys love for that gypsy girl .

Even now unto this day they play this song it won’t go away ,
In Shepherd’s Bush s music halls to two thousand expecting hordes ,
that song lives ever on .

So what is love only that it must be perused ,
or our lives become catacombs,
and our hearts encased in tombs . .
Our 20,000. Leagues we fall ,
deeper and deeper where there is no love at all ,
just a skull on a shelf to watch it all .
Then save your love for pettles and flowers for above all these things
Gods love towers ,
Wrapped up in Mary’s arms ,
Lies Gods gift of love to man ,
a spralling baby who’s arms stretched out in love ,
this infant child covered in blood it cries .
Like every other in Linon cloth lay ,
that stars and Kings adore .