After reading a Christmas Poem in the Guardian, I felt the need to write something from a different perspective. If you like this sentiment, then do share it and give some money to a refugee charity this Christmas holiday.
A refugee CHRISTMAS poem
When you’re every moment means a huddle in the rubble,
When you’re every moment is as a creeper from the reaper,
Just consider our poor middle class unable to 4G,
As they wait outside John Lewis searching Internet TV.
As your nostrils fill with cordite and you watch your children starve,
And you traipse with desperation carrying everything you have,
Consider poor Miss Knightsbridge carrying heavy shopping bags,
Full of retail insincerity and designer clothing tags.
As you haggle with the traffickers in the line for lethal boats,
Surrendering your worldly goods for anything that floats,
Remember those poor Londoners who don’t know what to do,
Sad Families in Hamleys stuck in Father Christmas queues.
As you’re faced with desperate choices it’s your children or your wife,
And out & out rejection has become a way of life,
Spare a passing thought
for the desperate Guardian readers,
Choosing between designer cooks
and organic squirrel feeders.
(Copyright John Watts 2015)