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 bloody 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 .