Christmas Eve
Children in their warm beds
Struggle to stay awake,
But their lids droop
And they dream all night of morning
And the presents, draped in
Shiny paper and ribbons,
That sit ’neath the tree,
Awaiting their grubby hands.
The child on the street
Shivers in his rags,
Curls closer to his mother
To steal warmth from her emaciated body —
Midnight Mass becomes the voice
Of the monsters haunting his dreams.
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