Who does not wish to give the perfect gift
to those we love – to whom we have already
given the greatest gift we have – our heart?
To choose a visible and outward sign
of love whose meaning’s inward, spiritual?
But who would dare to challenge innocence
and ignorance in their demonic bond,
and break the spell of Christmas wish and hope
by telling children, that old Santa Claus
is but the God who gave their life to them -
dressed up in red and white and snowy beard;
and who, in needing nothing of himself,
would be delighted to receive their thanks
and nothing more; and who, we might believe
of one who has all gifts in his command,
might be obliged by those laws he himself
created, out of justice, equity,
to give them that which they themselves have made –
a life of gratitude for life itself –
a life of praise, where all the world is gift
beyond all human gifts?
What parents now
might give their children gold, myrrh, frankincense
with all their love; and teach them by this show
why Christmas gifts are godly metaphor?
Of course, no parents would dare break this spell;
you’ll laugh at me for this absurdity;
yet it might build a clear-eyed, praising race
who thought in metaphor; spoke poetry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem