An Ode to the Christmas Crib

My attempt at reviving my poetry writing exercises for practice. A Pindaric Ode anyone?

A mother young, a mother poor

Rushing round with husband dear.

For contractions came too soon for home

The star - kissed night draws clear.

Poor husband's fraught and strained

And then at last, a crack of hope

A manger, straw, ox. Now we can cope.

Cash registers ring. The date draws near.

Shoppers pile up gifts for kith and kin dear.

The turkey roasted fat. The drinks foam.

All it seems is cheer. Trees glitter, children roam.

Excess rules the day. The side show becomes the main

Event. We all join in the refrain

Of winter wonderland while places we "chope"

In the Christmas show down Orchard Road.

Has the child been forgotten in the fear

Of being alone? And Silent Night turned rowdy cheer?

And why are there, in tropical heat, foam

flecked reindeer frozen outside a mall on a dome?

Even for those who choose to drain

Belief from their lives, still acclaim

Christmas. The hope that fights the nope

Of modernist thought. And for that magic they grope.

Note: "chope" means to reserve. Translated from the Singlish to English. Orchard Road is the glittering main shopping street in Singapore.

I have a young sister

I have a young sister, far beyond the sea
many be the druries that she sent me

she sent me the cherry without any stone
and so she did the dove without any bone

she sent me the briar without any rind
she bade me love my leman without longing

how should any cherry be without stone
and how should any dove be without bone

how should any briar be without rind
how should any love my leman without longing

when the cherry was a flower then it had no stone
when the dove was an egg then had it no bone

when the briar was unbred then it had no rind
when the maiden hath that she loveth then she is without longing

ANON (circa early 15th century English song)

druries: love-gifts leman: sweetheart unbred: unborn

One of my favourite poems, so replete with sisterly love and understanding of love requited. I found it in a book of poems which a friend gave to me of poems that had been displayed in the London Underground.