I gazed through my window, to the field of Summer's green below, releasing a sigh, more akin to a moan; for having been born to this tropical paradise, I have never seen fields of snow and ice.

The Capital bustles, with crowds I'm sure, those legions advancing towards all stores; thoughtless exhausting the coin that they had for all year stored.

So this Christmas now, a feast and a fair; a chance for children to have a hundred toys, ninety-nine of which will never be played with again.

I suppose that's fine, go on then and dine, dye you glasses red with the decadence of wine. Feast! Feast till you are merry and fat; eat all on your plate, and I won't begrudge you that.

All I want for this Christmas are my kin, my friends. To have them near, anything I would gladly trade.