It's Still Life

The Postman’s Daughter

There was a time of innocence.
A child’s care with tinsel and 
looping bobbles on branch ends, 

but sky always overclouded, 
darkened with flaws of grey.
A postman’s daughter knows —  

Christmas is not a happy time.

A postman’s feet are worlds of pain.
A delivery of misery and madness.
He is the limping lame, but  

    we sang Peace on Earth.
    Angels up on high.

Things were said, a serpent’s sting. 
Costly toys and roaring words, but 
this was a time of innocence. 

    Shops and Christmas markets
     drowned in joy and spice. 

Little wonder that a Christmas ad 
will quickly bring on the tears.