Twas two warps benaught Christmas, when all through the when
Not a creature was stirring; they’d already been;
The Earth was at peace, laid back taking care,
Healing from reeling from Human despair.
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The moments not counted, the memories unsaid,
No visions, no pretense, no dancing with dread;
No mamma in her ‘kerchief, no I in my cap,
Our Earth in rebirth in a long winter’s nap,
.
ThenWhen and LornPast there came such a clatter,
The planet awoke and took hand of the matter,
Away to extremes, to ice and to ash.
Now mending, attending and recycling trash.
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Now strewn in the quest of this new-fallen globe
Is this cluster of words that have come back to probe,
When then do time-traveling missives appear,
But to reach to beseech, to warn, to be clear,
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“Too late is too late, and then I’ll be quick.”
Thus spoke the Truth in the guise of St. Nick.
“More rapid than eagles my coursers will tame,”
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
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“Now, Flash Floods! now, Warming! now, Swarming and Fire!
On, Vomit! on, Stupid! on, Wetter and Drier!
To the melting ice caps! To the nuclear squall!
Your Slapdash and Backlash becomes your downfall!”
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As beliefs that before our extinction won’t die,
When they meet with resolve to discount and defy,
So all ’round the Earth-globe the coursers they flew,
To visit destruction on me and on you.
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And then in a thinkling, this warning arrives
Foretelling a future where no one survives.
As I draw my conclusions from pro- to con-found,
From the heart and the soul to the penny and pound.
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To be dressed all in furs, with three cars and some land,
To believe in great wealth, to control and command;
A bundle of toys thus flung on my back,
I’m not but a peddler just opening my pack.
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My eyes — how they twinkle! my dimples how merry!
My cheeks are like roses, my nose like a cherry!
My droll little mouth is drawn up like a bow,
Whispering the words, “You don’t know what I know.”
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“The stump of your gripe you hold tight in your teeth;
The fact of my wealth permits me to bequeath;
This broad little system all tricksy and smelly,
That will shake and soon slump like a mound of cooked jelly.”
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Today chubby and plump, not a thing-in-itself,
Man-made and perceived and propped up on a shelf;
A wink of the eye and a fist to the head,
Bureaucracy’s safe and the wealth gap’s widespread.
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Thus trapped in the word, there is nothing but work,
Must fill all the stockings, unthinking knee-jerk,
Cannot raise a finger to shape or compose,
Cannot save the world, for fear of who knows;
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So we bask in our comfort, respond when they whistle,
And our future is gone like the down of a thistle.
Yet this warning is clear and should set us to right,
Or Christmas falls into that gentle good-night.
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