Upon Us Again, Holidays

    Here come ‘dem holidays again. Making Ben happy when you spend. First comes the big feast. Over stuffed beast shoved passed the teeth. When it’s all over with a huge drink cup. Plop ourselves the legs are up. Listening to a beat out of a box. There it be between the feet. Don’t you wish for that box seat?
    Later comes the Friday of Black. All the populous out and there about. They shop here, they shop over there, all shop just anywhere. Too much traffic it goes ‘round and ‘round. Ol’ Ben now wears a happy gold crown. Going on for more than three weeks. Make a head spin also brain dead. Oh how it is so commercial and cleaned. Second nature it’s become to one and all.
    Then the day comes all the little ones waited for. A day the credo’s supposedly for all. Better to give to that of receiving at all. But in the end all receive giving their all. Little ones scamper to a tree. Origins of which are unknown to us. To open up their little givings of tidings and joy. We bask in happiness of the joyfulness of what a gift brings to all.
Following the scramble to unwrap what’s scribbled upon. Next comes the cleanup than followed by the other feast. Equaled too that one of before the Friday of Black. All leave the table satisfied and full. Watch more from that box from between the feet. When the day has gone and night falls without a sound. We all head to sleep snuggled in our beds. Dreaming dreams of sleigh bells, dancing fire light and another wonderful year of giving.
     Wait! Has something been forgotten? No not a something but someone’s. These are the ones, you know you like to forget about, asking for money receiving mostly chides. Their unwrapped gift is perhaps a meal at a shelter. Where when the new dawn of day are shuffled away. A gift that keeps on giving to those who receive it yearly.
    Now isn’t gift giving wonderful and fulfilling for all? Or would you rather read more of the ones with holes in their knees, sleeping in the street or just asking for meat.
    No let’s do what most do. Sweep it all to a pile and under a rug. Out of sight, out of mind. Go through the new year blissful in being those who are under informed. After all isn’t there place and others that take care of them.
    There is no morale or happy ending. Only more of those we refer to a ‘street people’. They will not go away or become invisible to the eye. All that would happen is come this time next year. Their numbers shall grow.
    So what will you do. Would you hide in the sand. Or bearing the true gift of the holidays. The gift for anothers happiness a gift from our hand.

Thought by
Sheilah Say