Christmas Has Gone To Hell (A Lament For My Grandchildren And Theirs) Poem by H E Alexander

There is no snow upon the ground, nor tracks from gelid feet,
the star-rich sky is hidden behind a heavy curtain of clouds
and a warm wind blows fiercely down the grey and empty street,
where once it was adorned with lively, bustling crowds.

Indoors, the balsam fir is bare, no baubles nor lights are found,
the room is bereft of garlands, no wreath hangs upon the door.
Christmas songs are unplayed, unsung carols carry no sound.
No shepherds standing at the crib, no baby, no animals, no straw.

There is no Christmas anymore; celebrations have gone to hell.
The Diwali lights will shine no more, no Pesach, Ramadan, nor Lent.
Shops that remain open are bare, or have little left to sell;
survival is the sole observance, humanity is all but spent.

They told us our world was dying-razed by unfettered human contact,
we've poisoned her and wasted all the precious resources she held.
The layers above the sky are breached, the seas risen and the earth cracked:
we didn't listen to their message, no matter how loud they yelled.