Maria Guzvic

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His bones reclined in a chair so bare
His old hands trembled in tune to the cold
A steel poker he took to nudge the coals
Worn out blanket about him rolled

Porridge was his dinner with a splash of salt
Stodgy oats stared at him as he lunged with spoon
Hunger on his lips, a taste for fineries not had
A barren, uninviting sitting-room

No fancy, filtering lights in the shape of a Christmas star
A full, fat turkey was way beyond his means
Christmas for the unassuming old gent
Was a distant image in far away dreams

Yesterday and tomorrow will be the same as today
No visitors to chat or children calling to play
For him Christmas was parcelled and thrown out with the old
Similar pictures of desolate loneliness over the world will unfold

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