The swaying Santa at the car wash
Blindly beckons paying punters in
To spruce up petrol guzzling tin
For a temporary Christmas treat
But like the transitory puff of air
That, from the pressured hose,
Inflates then instantly disappears,
Briefly buffed-up gleaming motors
Mask a harsher modern truth
For this is what is Christmas now:
Hand polished for a week or so
To shine our tarnished world
Which still has need to peer
Beneath the tinsel and the glitz
To glimpse the mystery within.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good poem... 10... Colin J...