It stands in pride of place
Occupying a corner once dim
Now all a-glimmer with tiny lights.
Beneath its boughs of green,
All laden with baubles and more,
Gaudily wrapped gifts lie,
Hidden contents puzzling.
At the pinnacle, proudly alone,
The gentle angel gazes out,
A reminder of those ancient heralds
Who brought news of birth,
Of hope and prayer fulfilled.
Spiralling down, star rays recalled,
Tinsel twinkles in any draught.
The tree, ancient symbol,
Its religion long superseded
By the new Light, a new Truth,
Radiant centrepiece of Faith.
Steve Smy, December 2012.
