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 .