I wrote this when my writer’s group challenged us to write a Christmas poem on the subject; “The Season of Goodwill.”
A time of the year far above any other!
There’s loving and giving and opening of hearts.
But what of those people who feel no contentment,
Who are laden with burdens, not gifts for their mother?
To the woebegone, I offer joyous outpouring,
Goods that hands cannot touch but the heart knows are real.
I drift far and wide like a leaf or a feather,
Casting out warmth and succour, to send a heart soaring.
They touch those without shelter, those working, or stranded,
And all those detained who have long paid their dues.
I reach out to those sneered at for loving our Saviour
And to those with good hearts to whom love is not handed.
I give eyes to the blind, to the weary give power
And all those already content, I insure.
The light of goodwill behind all gifts this season
Is my gift to the world in this singular hour.
rpatersonwriting 