I first saw this on Bruce Louis Dodson’s blog.Link here
Mourning has broken
Imbibe with me
E bay in a manger.
Type to say Goodbye
O come all ye wrathful/awful
They sent baiting for our partitions
Guardian angels, Telegraph demons
All on an apron even.
Enhance me with the sense of love.
So long,carry on
The tipsy wife.
Three wise men…. send them here
Idolatry is love
Go spell it to the Pope
When in pain, the world is made of seats
Where one can gain a moment of relief
Ignored are flowers however fair and pure
When pain grows strong,we cannot gaze,revere
But since the homeless lie on seats at night
The council have removed them from our sight
The bus stop , seats of plastic , hurt me sore
Till I am wracked with pain I once ignored
I need gardens with low walls of stone
Where I may sit and softly, clearly moan
My coat is spoiled and now I feel my rage
I’m no longer on the human stage.
Yet bees die if they sting us in defence
Little in the world makes any sense
When of the world of doctors,I am sick.
When diagnosis is not any aid
When from the choices given,
I cannot pick
Although I feel my deepest debts were paid.
Then off from thinking I must take my mind
To gaze upon the beauty of the woods
And feel the sun not fiery, even kind.
It warms and heartens even my cold blood.
The trees are calm for they have grown deep roots
Though storms may strike their trunks and branches too
Breaking off new tender green tipped shoots
They sway and take it without much to do.
Strength needs flexibility and give;
With no such, the brittle shall not live